


Shockwave

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creature Fic, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/F, F/M, First Time, Getting Together, Las Vegas, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Murder Mystery, Rough Oral Sex, Vampires, Veela, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: When Harry fled Britain he had no idea murder and Draco fucking Malfoy would follow. Now in Las Vegas, he’s faced with a vampire mystery and a Malfoy who refuses to tell him the truth.Veelas and vampires! Yay!





	1. The Hive

Harry hadn’t expected there to be so many vampires in Las Vegas. 

For one, it was the bloody desert. You would think they’d gravitate to a climate that didn’t have a _holy fuck people live here?_ level of heat.

For another, the aesthetic was all wrong. Vampires were meant for cold dungeons and creaking coffins; for icy moonless nights and castles filled with dripping candelabras.

Instead they swarmed a city that was just so _inauthentic_. American. Cheap. The equivalent of those plastic necklaces from Mardi Gras throws. It must’ve been all the intoxicated Muggles. Sure, there were tourist hot spots all around the world, but these casinos seemed especially determined to corral all their guests inside. The easy picking probably had the vampires licking their chops. Why leave the air-conditioned slaughterhouse when it was 46 degrees outside?

Harry didn’t know what he was doing in Vegas. He’d left Britain because he had enough of being stalked and harassed. Back home, total strangers asked so much from him, and he was sick of being followed in the streets, people interrupting his lunch or pint for an autograph, a drone of whispers trailing him everywhere. He’d come to America in search of anonymity, and he definitely got it in this town. Everything was so different that he sometimes felt like a stranger even to himself. 

He was currently at a strip club called The Hive. And yes, there were vampire strippers. He was very much aware that he was living the plot to countless rubbish vampire novels. But it was also ironic for him to be here, and he liked irony. He should’ve known better. As a wizard, vampires should’ve bored him, and they did most of the time. But he had to admit that he appreciated the atmosphere. Trashy city. Trashy club. Trashy vampire mistress gyrating in front of him. It made him feel off-kilter, reckless, very horny.

The club was nothing special. He only came here because it was close to his flat and he liked that he could walk home at three or four in the morning, staggering from drink, breathing in the comfortable night air. In theory he should just Apparate everywhere, but Apparating that pissed was hard, and he didn’t like chancing it. Splinching himself was not his ideal way of ending a night.

It was very dim and smoky in here. Glow in the dark accents. Throbbing pop music. The stench of spilled drink and musky arousal. You know the place. 

The vampire in front of him was cute. Very cute. Button nose. A splatter of freckles on her cheeks. Her hair was pulled up in pigtails and her cut-off jean shorts _barely_ covered her arse. Stick some wheat in her mouth and she’d be the all-American girl. He narrowed his eyes. He knew enough about vampires to be suspicious. She probably wasn’t even American. She’d probably been born two hundred years ago in some little known Eastern European country. Like Galicia. 

On second thought, being an immigrant would definitely make her the all-American girl.

Her tits weren’t out yet. He’d have to pay for that. He thought about giving her a five, but knew she’d just toy with him. Ten dollars would perhaps be enough. He took out a twenty. She was a vampire after all.

She leaned down so he could slip the bill in her cleavage. She raised an eyebrow and started to slowly undo the gauzy wrap thing she was using as a bra. He shivered. He’d always liked a bit of cheek.

She gyrated closer. “My name’s Tallulah.”

He was amused. “My name’s Harry.” 

“You’re not the only Brit that comes in here,” Tallulah said.

“You don’t say?” Harry smirked. “You do realize we can leave our little isles.”

She rolled her eyes. “He asked about you.”

“Oh?” Now Harry was interested. “Did you catch his name? What did he look like?”

“His name was something weird. It sounded like he was named after some ancient torturer.”

“Lovely.”

“He looked like a little bitch. Like he hasn’t done a hard day’s work in his life.”

“Now I’m really lost. You’ve just described most of England’s upper class.”

Tallulah snorted. “Do you want to go back to my place? I get off in ten.” She plugged her nose and waved off all the cigarette smoke.

“For sex?” Harry said.

She rolled her eyes. “No, video games.”

He didn’t know if she joking. He was down for either.

They met in the car park. She paused. “Can you Apparate?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You know about that?”

“You must think I’m an idiot.”

“I didn’t say that.” He stepped into her space. “Have you done it before?”

“Loads of times.” She tilted her head up to look at him. Her eyes were large and blue, and very, very pretty.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Desert Inn and Flamingo.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh, you’re an asshole.” She moved away. “Better luck next time.”

“Wait.” He knew she wanted him to grovel a bit. “I didn’t mean it.”

She snorted. “Do you know how lucky you are that I even asked?”

“Please.” 

“What do I get in return?”

“I’m very good at Mario Kart and I’m not afraid of trying new things.” She looked thoroughly unimpressed. He pulled out his wallet. “And I’ve got . . . eighty-nine dollars.”

“Can I feed on you?” She licked her lips.

He hesitated. “For how long?”

“Five minutes.”

“Absolutely not!” He didn’t want to feel like shite tomorrow.

“Four minutes.”

“Two. And that’s final.”

She huffed and snatched the money from his hand. “Fine.”

He pulled her close and shivered a little. She was very cold. They spun and disappeared.

When they appeared on the corner of D.I. and Flamingo, Tallulah staggered and nearly fell to the ground. “Jesus.”

He helped her up. “I’m sorry; I thought you were used to it.”

“How can you ever be used to _that_?” She nudged him off and led him into a block of flats. It was a depressing place. Car parts littered the grounds; graffiti snaked along the crumbling walls; they passed a flat that had plywood nailed over its door, yellow caution tape bandaging up the holes in its windows.

Her flat was a few buildings down. They arrived at her door and she let them. It stank. Harry covered his nose.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Smells like rotten meat or something.”

“Damnit!” She rushed to her kitchen. He followed hesitantly. On the counter was raw ground beef that’d turned grey and syrupy. He gagged.

“Why do you have it?”

“I was trying to cook for someone, and I just forgot.” She went to throw it away but he stopped her.

“Let me.” He Vanished the mess with his wand. Then he cast a few air freshening spells. 

She stared. “I rather be one of you than one of me.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at knowing what things smell like to humans.”

“I understand,” he lied. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“I have Mountain Dew,” she said, opening her fridge. “It’s probably flat, though.” She moved to her cabinet. “I also have tea.”

“Tea?”

She read the label and brightened. “It’s _English_ tea!”

“Lemme see.” He didn’t recognize the brand. Bad sign. He smelled a bag. Ugh. “I’ll stick to water. Thanks.”

She filled a glass from the faucet. He paused, trying to remember how to make pumpkin juice. He stirred the water a few times and muttered the incantation; it turned orange and he got a whiff of nutmeg.

“Wow,” she said.

He grinned. “Wanna see more?”

“Maybe.”

He dragged the tip of his wand along her tits, over her exposed belly. “What do you want me to show you?”

“Let’s move to the couch.”

On the sofa Harry put his hand on her waist. “Can I kiss you?” She nodded. Her lips were ice cold; her body didn’t vibrate with breath and it felt like he was snogging a fuck doll that’d been left in the freezer. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. She hesitated but did it. He tongued her fangs. 

“It’s time,” she said.

“Okay.” He undid his jeans and pulled out his cock. 

“Jesus,” she muttered, and wrapped her hand around him. She stroked him a few times. “Take off your shirt.” He quickly did so. She pushed his head to the side and sniffed around his neck.

“Get on with it.”

She bit him. He whimpered and tried to move away. She pinned him to the sofa with unexpected strength. Fuck, it hurt. Fuck, fuck. Why did he agree to this? The feeling wasn’t a little pinch; it reminded him of when he was twelve and that Basilisk had sunk its teeth into his arm.

She was making these hungry gurgling noises. It was awful. Her hand stilled on his cock.

“Come on now,” he said, irritated. He wrapped his hand around hers and pumped into their fists.

She pulled back with a huff. “I’m a little busy here.” Her mouth was wet with his blood. He flinched.

“You’re a bloody vampire. You can do two things at once.” 

“Hold your horses.” She flicked his hand away and started pumping him methodically. His head fell back with a groan. She took out her phone to play a game. He didn’t care. He didn’t. He closed his eyes.

A man was beating him off. Oh, God. Yes. A man with a calloused palm and a burning smirk. He’d say something like, “You like this, Potter? You dirty slag.” His voice would be deep, his accent clipped. Nothing like all this ugly American honking. They honestly sounded like they were hacking up something. Maybe the man would kiss him roughly, his lips surprisingly soft. Harry came.

“Finally,” Tallulah said, and grimaced at her hand.

“Wait—” 

She wiped his come on his jeans.

“There’s _spells_ for that!” He pulled out his wand to clean up the mess on his thigh.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Really?”

“No.” She grinned, showing her blood-tainted teeth. “It’s my turn now.”

He gulped. “All right, but I’m setting an alarm. You’ve got ninety seconds.” She pounced on him.

Afterward she brought out a flannel to clean him up. He put his shirt back on and made to leave.

“Where are you going?” She was rummaging for something in her coffee table.

“I thought we were done here.”

She pulled out two controllers. “Don’t you want to play Mario Kart?”

He blinked. “Oh. Okay.” He moved back to the sofa.

*

The next morning Harry woke up to his phone going off. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. He sat up. He was on a sofa that had too many blood stains. Then he remembered: Hot vampire mistress. Awkward wank. Lots and lots of Mario Kart.

He looked at his phone. It was Wyatt, his cowboy detective friend. “Hello?”

“Rise and shine, Princess.”

He groaned. “What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter. Look—I need your help with something.”

“Yeah?” Harry dropped his phone as he dug into his jeans for his pack of cigarettes. One was lit and in his mouth when he picked it up again. “You’re gonna need to repeat all that.”

Wyatt huffed. “Murder. Kidnapping. Magical creatures. Get your ass to my house. If you’re not here in fifteen minutes, I’ll never forgive you.” He hung up.

Harry groaned again and fell back on the sofa. Today was _not_ going to be good. He took a long drag off his cigarette and let his eyes slip shut. After what he hoped was only a minute or two, he got up to search for the toilet. The flat was deserted; he assumed that Tallulah had left to bunker down for the day. The loo was disgusting. Dead cockroaches littered the laminate floor; blood splattered the walls and shower curtain. Was this where she _killed_ people? A scuttling came from the tub and he refused to check if it was a bug or a rat. He pissed and moved to the cracked mirror. 

“Fuck.” He looked like shite. He was pale and sweaty, and his skin around the bite was all swollen. He tried to heal the bite with his wand, but the two little holes resisted. He hit himself with a couple of cleaning spells and called it done. 

He Apparated to a hidden spot near Wyatt’s place.

Wyatt lived on a couple acre ranch on the eastside. He owned three horses and an arsehole goat. Harry jumped his fence and jogged up the gravel path, scattering clucking chickens.

“You’re late,” Wyatt said from his porch. 

“Be glad I came.” Harry rubbed at his face. “What’s this about murder?”

“Get to my pickup. I’ll tell you on the way.”

On the road Wyatt began to explain. “It’s just off Lake Mead. In a trailer. I haven’t seen it but my buddy says it’s terrible.”

“What happened?”

“Vampire attack on a family. The grandma, brother, and two sisters. Three bodies have been recovered and we’re thinking the vampires kidnapped one of the girls.”

“My God,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “We’re thinking it’s a drug deal gone wrong and they took the girl for collateral.” 

When they pulled up in front of a lopsided mobile home, Wyatt stopped Harry before he could slip out. “We have to be quick about this before the No-Maj show up. That’s why I asked you to come. This isn’t the time to dick around.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Got it.”

“Good.” Wyatt nodded. “Best to cast your mask now.” They cast ventilation charms and translucent bubbles formed over their mouth and nose.

They were greeted by a handful from L.V.M.M.P.D. (Deep breath: Las Vegas Magical Metropolitan Police Department.)

He approached a policewoman who reminded him of McGonagall. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her face was very severe.

“I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

“Officer Welles.”

“No, I mean like your first name.”

She blinked. “First name Officer, last name Welles.”

“Okay then,” he said, and moved on. 

A tall policeman eyed him suspiciously. “Who’s he?”

“He’s an illegal come to steal your job.” Wyatt winked.

“That might be a fair description,” said a woman he recognized. 

“Judy! Long time no see!” he said.

Judy shook her head. She was grinning. “The famous Harry Potter. You still owe me another pair of sneakers.”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll make sure to give you some money. I don’t usually sick up when I drink. Honest.”

She snorted. “Sure.” She turned to the rest of the group. “This here is Auror Harry Potter. From England if you hadn’t already guessed. He’s quite famous overseas for murdering the magical equivalent of Hitler.”

Officer Welles nodded. “I saw your episode on Magical America. It was part of their true crime series.”

“Right,” Harry said, very uncomfortable. “Shall we crack on?”

They laughed at him. 

It was almost unbearable inside the mobile home. There was blood _everywhere_. Harry did his best to tread carefully around the debris; an entire wall that’d separated the front bedroom from the living room had collapsed. All the furniture was in pieces. There were shards of glass and metal, huge chunks of the roof scattered about. It looked like the aftermath of a tornado, not a couple of murders.

“Where are the bodies?” Harry asked.

“In the back bedrooms,” Wyatt said solemnly. “If you’re up to it, go back there and see if you can dig up any information.”

“Okay.” Harry headed down the hallway without thinking. He’d seen countless crime scenes during his time with the Aurors.

In the first bedroom was the brother. He’d been tied up and gnawed on. His wrists were all bruised and his eyes had swollen shut. He’d put up a damn good fight. Harry cast a spell to see if magic had caused any of his wounds. Nope. All done by hand and fangs. Harry examined the room; it was obvious that the brother had been attacked elsewhere. There were bloodstains only where he’d bled out. Not much struggle took place in this room; there were a few nicks in the doorframe, but the bed was still made and most of the knickknacks on the dresser hadn’t been disturbed.

Taking a deep breath, Harry went to the other bedroom. It was worse. The grandma and sister were tied up together, but the older woman’s body was distorted liked she’d tried to shield the girl even while being attacked. Their deaths had happened in here; blood dripped down the walls, on the window, even on the closet mirror across the room. The vampires that did this were monsters. Harry thought about Tallulah and her blood-splattered toilet, and shivered. Maybe she’d planned to kill him last night and he’d survived by sheer luck.

“Harry?” Wyatt entered the room.

“A witch or wizard didn’t do this,” Harry said.

“Yeah? That’s good, I guess.”

“I understand why you think this was more than a couple of hungry vampires having their way with a family,” Harry said. “Why go through all the trouble to tie everyone up if you’re just going to eat them?”

Wyatt nodded. “It seems like the vampires were fucking with them. Splitting them up. Slowly torturing them. Did you notice none of the bites were on main arteries? They wanted these people to bleed out slowly.”

“Fuck.” Harry took off his glasses to rub between his eyes. He thought he’d never have to see anything like this again. “Why the hell would you do this to a nan and a little girl?”

“Wyatt?” Judy hovered in the doorway. “We need you in the living room.”

Wyatt followed her out. Harry remained in the bedroom. He crouched down to get a better view of the bites. Wyatt was right; most of them were not very deep, and they were at different stages of healing. They must’ve been bitten over the span of many hours. God. What a way to go.

Something plastic caught his eye. It was the girl’s mobile sticking out from her jean pocket. Casting a glove charm on his hands, Harry carefully picked it up. There were messages from somebody named “Shithead Sister.” His heart was thumping.

HELP ME, read one message. He scrolled through the others:

THEY GOT ME  
I’M IN A TRUNK  
NOW IM IN A HOUSE  
THE STRT NIGHTNINGALE  
SOMEBODY PLZ HELP IM SCARED

Harry stumbled to the living room, clutching the mobile. “I’ve discovered something very important.”

“Don’t tell me: you hooked up with one of these evil fuckers,” the tall officer said, staring pointedly at the bite on Harry’s neck.

“No,” he said numbly. “I found messages from the kidnapped girl.” Everyone rushed over to have a look. He handed the mobile to Wyatt.

“Holy fuck,” Wyatt whispered. “Anyone know where Nightingale is?”

“There’s like fifteen streets named that in this city,” Judy said.

There was banging on the door. They all jumped. 

“METRO POLICE! OPEN UP!”

“Goddammit! We’re not ready to give up this crime scene yet.” Wyatt took out his own mobile. “Somebody get out there and try to smooth things over with them. I’ll try to get a No-Maj liaison down here.”

As everyone else scattered to handle the Muggles, Harry began casting protective spells on all the debris. He didn’t want the Muggles trampling over valuable evidence. A few detection spells were already hard at work, golden fingerprint-like patterns dotting the air. Harry paused. A witch or wizard _had_ been in this place recently; their magical signature touched nearly everything. 

What the hell was a wizard doing with vampires and Muggles? Harry looked around. Had vampires really caused all this damage? He was sure they had the strength, but it would’ve taken a lot of effort. A wizard could’ve easily blown up a room. Had the person tried to stop the vampires and things just got out of control?

Yelling trickled in from outside. Wyatt stormed back into the home. 

“All right,” he said. “Change of plans. The No-Maj refuse to stay the fuck in their lane for a while. We’ve got five minutes to collect as much evidence as possible before they come inside.”

“We should just Stun them,” Officer Welles said.

“Would you like to fill out that mountain of paperwork? Because I fucking don’t,” Wyatt said.

She shrugged. “Nobody would have to know.” Wyatt stomped off.

Harry raced back to the bedrooms to cast a few sloppy detection spells. When attempting to gain information from bodies, you were supposed to cast carefully and patiently. At least he’d learn the exact time of their death.

“All right, let’s go!” Wyatt said from somewhere in the mobile home. Harry rushed out.

The group huddled at Wyatt’s car. The tall officer lit a cigarette and flipped off the Muggle police.

“Fucking focus, Todd,” Wyatt said, and then turned to Judy. “We need to send out patrols to every street named Nightingale. You think it’s doable?”

“Maybe.” Judy pulled out her mobile. “Let me make some calls. See what’s going on. Do you think we should try to text the girl?”

“I don’t know. We shouldn’t do anything hasty. We’ll discuss it later.” Wyatt turned to Todd and Officer Welles. “You two get back to headquarters. Figure out what we can do about this shit show.” He pointed behind him at the Muggles. He then spoke to Harry: “Mind going back to my place for a few minutes? There’s somebody you need to meet.”

“Me?” Harry mouthed. 

They took off in his truck. Wyatt drove erratically. He banged his fist against the steering wheel. “Why does shit like that have to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see lots of stuff like that fighting your war against Magic Hitler?”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, some.”

There was a man waiting for them when they arrived at Wyatt’s house. He had his back to them and held a large umbrella over his head.

Harry jumped out to open the gate for Wyatt’s truck and the man turned to him. Harry gaped.

It was Draco Malfoy.

They stared at one another; Malfoy seemed shocked to see Harry, too. Wyatt honked. Harry quickly opened the gate for him to drive through. He waited for Malfoy to say something. Malfoy didn’t speak; he just kept on staring, his breath coming a little fast. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry said finally.

Malfoy gulped. “I’m on holiday.”

Harry was extremely suspicious. “How do you know Wyatt?”

“I don’t. I—I needed to talk to you and he agreed to set up a meeting.”

“Why?”

“Because I agreed to do some favors for him.”

Harry rubbed at his forehead. “No, I mean why do you need to speak to me?” He racked his brain, but he couldn’t think of anything besides the trials that linked them. “Do you need me to testify for you again?”

“No, nothing like that.” Malfoy’s voice trembled. He took a deep breath. “Look—can we go back to your place or something? I need to sit down and I’d rather you be comfortable.”

He hesitated. He didn’t really want Malfoy to see his flat. He didn’t know Malfoy, and he didn’t like that Malfoy was talking to him so casually. 

“I don’t know—”

Malfoy stepped closer. “Please. I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Harry tilted his head to gaze up at the taller man. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in ages and he almost didn’t recognize him. Malfoy looked very tired, his face drained of color. His eyes were bloodshot, like he’d been up for days.

“Are you in danger?” Harry thought about the crime scene. “Is any trouble gonna follow you to my flat?”

“No! It’s nothing like that!” Malfoy looked anxious. “Please.”

Harry’s phone vibrated. It was a message from Wyatt: _Take off if you need. Hope I didn’t start anything_. He replied: _I don’t know yet. Keep me updated on everything k?_ He put his phone back in his pocket.

“Can you Apparate?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded. “I’ll need to Side-Along, though.”

“No shite.” Harry moved close and batted at the umbrella. “Put that thing away.” Malfoy did as he was told. Harry clutched at his arm; Malfoy’s eyes fluttered and he whined softly.

Harry paused. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go to hospital?”

“I’m okay.” Malfoy leaned into Harry’s touch; he seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“Good.” Harry muttered a privacy charm. Wyatt lived on a Muggle street with noisy seniors; you could never be too careful. He Apparated them away.

They appeared in his flat. Malfoy staggered. Harry caught him around the waist and helped him to the sofa.

“Would you like tea?”

Malfoy nodded, and pressed his hands to his face, breathing harshly. Harry went to the kitchen to boil some water. His flat was a disaster. Dishes fermented in his sink; flies buzzed around his bin. There was an alarming amount of soiled pants flung about his living room. He’d be embarrassed if it was anyone else, but who cared what _Malfoy_ thought?

He quickly scourged two mugs and added the tea bags and steaming water. He didn’t know how Malfoy took his tea, but he had a good feeling the milk in his fridge was bad. He had a handful of sugar packets trail after him when he headed for the sofa.

Malfoy watched his every move. Harry handed him his mug and directed some sugar to land next to him.

“Thanks,” Malfoy said, still watching.

“You’re welcome,” he answered awkwardly. 

Malfoy focused on the vampire bite on his neck; his face twitched. “Is that from . . . a girlfriend?”

Snorting, Harry said, “Nope. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Malfoy looked relieved. He set his tea down without drinking it. He was gulping air.

“Are you about to be sick?” Harry asked, alarmed.

“No.” Malfoy gulped some more. “May I move closer to you?”

“Why?”

“Please—I will explain in a moment. I just need to be closer to you.”

Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy. “You can sit closer, but just know that I’ve had a shite morning and I won’t hesitate to Stun you.”

“Understood.” Malfoy weakly scooted down the sofa. Their knees knocked together, and he sighed. After a moment he touched Harry’s wrist with two fingers.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Harry said.

Malfoy started to respond but was interrupted by a loud tapping on the window. 

“What now?” Harry moved to his window to receive the note from the waiting owl. He read it quickly: _Where are you? Aren’t we meeting for lunch? –Hermione_

“Fuck!” Harry crumpled the parchment in his fist.

“What?” Malfoy was startled.

“I forgot Hermione and Ron arrived today!” Could this day be anymore hectic? He’d completely forgotten that Ron and Hermione were coming all the way from London to spend their holiday with him. He was such a shite friend!

“I need to shower. Do you mind?” Harry wasn’t thinking very clearly. He should just cancel on lunch, but he wanted to see them.

Malfoy jerked his head. “No.”

“Just—wait here.” Harry threw him the remote to the telly. “I’ll only be a few.”

In the shower Harry didn’t let himself think. He didn’t want to dwell on the dead bodies from earlier. At one time he’d been quite used to seeing bodies but he’d grown soft since he left the Aurors a few years back. He hastily scrubbed his hair and body, and hissed when he gently touched the bite on his neck. He would never go near a vampire again.

Once he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist and listened closely before opening the door. Malfoy was probably in his living room doing something very quiet. Harry left the bathroom and darted to his bedroom. 

Malfoy was on his bed. He was sniffing Harry’s pillow.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Malfoy jumped up. “I’m sorry—” His mouth fell open when he saw that Harry was in nothing but a towel. His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.

“Malfoy!” Harry yelled.


	2. Smoke on the Water

Harry couldn’t wake up Malfoy. He levitated Malfoy to his bed and examined his head for blood. If he was concussed, he could only be out for a short period of time before brain damage set in. Malfoy’s face was lined with exhaustion. He probably collapsed out of sheer weakness.

Moving away, he sent off his Patronus with a message for Ron and Hermione: “Come to my flat now. I need your help.” He turned back to the bed and found Malfoy staring at his cock. At some point he’d let his towel slip to the floor and he hadn’t even noticed. He went to cover himself but Malfoy cried, “Don’t!”

Harry dropped his hands. “What is this?”

“Please,” Malfoy rasped. His eyes were dark and glittery. He licked his lips. “Merlin—look at you.”

Harry’s cock twitched. He couldn’t help it. Malfoy buzzed with arousal, and it was all directed at him. He’d have to be stone not to respond.

Loud pops came from his living room. “Harry?” Hermione said. He scrambled to throw on his underpants before they came into his room.

“ _Malfoy?_ ” Ron said from the doorway. He glanced from Harry in his pants to Malfoy on the bed. His eyebrows shot up.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Harry said quickly.

Hermione seemed amused. “What should it look like?”

“Malfoy—he had an accident and I couldn’t wake him up. That’s why I sent my Patronus.”

She approached the bed. “Do you need to go to hospital?”

“No.” Malfoy tried to sit up and failed.

“Maybe you caught something?” Hermione cast a thermometer spell. “Hmm. No fever. When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know.” Malfoy laid against the pillows with his eyes closed.

Ron brightened. “Food. Great idea! I vote for tacos.”

“I still have their menu.” Harry knew Ron was obsessed with this taco place around the corner.

Hermione worried her lip. “Are tacos all right, Malfoy?”

“Yes. Anything. Thank you.” He nestled into Harry’s bedding. He was trying to hide it, but Harry could tell that he was smelling his pillows again.

“You’re not eating in my bed,” Harry said.

“Of course not.” Malfoy lifted an arm to him. “Will you help me to the kitchen?”

Harry hesitated. “Err—my kitchen is pretty dirty.”

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. “We’ll clean it up for you. Shouldn’t take too long,” Ron said.

Embarrassed, he said, “You don’t have to do that. I’ve just been busy.” They shrugged and left. He turned to Malfoy. “What’s really going on? Are you on something?”

Malfoy flinched. “Absolutely not. I’m just not feeling well.” He thrust his arm. “Please, help me up.”

“Fine.” Harry grabbed Malfoy’s waist again and pulled his arm over his shoulders. A shiver went through Malfoy. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Malfoy whispered. They hobbled to the kitchen; Harry had to pause a few times because he got tripped up. Malfoy leaned practically his whole weight on him. When they made it to his dining table, Harry helped Malfoy sit with a grunt. 

“Good?” Harry asked. Malfoy nodded; his face was quite flushed. He spoke to Ron and Hermione: “I need to throw on some clothes, then I’ll be back to help you.”

Ron shrugged. “We’re almost done. Chicken tacos good for you?” He waved the menu. “Also—can we use your phone?”

“You guys need to finally get mobiles!” Harry tossed Ron his and went to his bedroom. 

When he came back to the kitchen, Ron and Hermione were talking with Malfoy at the table. It was a strange sight. 

“Malfoy has some explaining to do,” Harry said. 

Malfoy blanched. “Yes, I do.” They stared at him. “I was cleaning out the Manor a few weeks ago and I—I came in contact with some kind of curse. I think it was left over from . . . you know. The curse bonded me to Potter . . . I think.”

Hermione gasped. “Why didn’t you go straight to a Curse-Breaker?”

Malfoy shook his head. “No—I couldn’t do that. It would’ve made the Ministry suspicious and I couldn’t have them in my home.”

“Why not?” Ron was a bit hostile.

“The Manor has collected many . . . questionable items over the centuries. They wouldn’t understand.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Harry said.

Malfoy gulped. “I don’t know yet. I feel horrible when I’m not around you and I’m hoping you will allow me _brief_ visits with you while I try to figure out how to break this.”

“How do we know that this curse won’t hurt Harry? Like it won’t force you to attack him or something?” Ron said.

Malfoy wrung his hands. “It might do that, but I haven’t felt compelled to harm him yet, and I’ve been near him for a while now.”

Harry didn’t want to believe it, but he had to admit that Malfoy was looking a lot better than he did at Wyatt’s house. He tried to think about it reasonably. What harm could Malfoy really do to him during these visits? Harry was capable of defending himself and Malfoy could barely get around. There was no way he could manage the strength to attack Harry.

“Do you need help finding the counter-curse?” Hermione asked.

Ron groaned. “We’re supposed to be on _holiday_.”

“I wouldn’t want to impede on you,” Malfoy said.

Their tacos arrived then. Harry went to the door and paid for them. He brought them back to the table and Ron pounced on the bags. They’d ordered Malfoy a big bowl of fideos. 

They ate quietly. Ron was three tacos in before he felt the need to speak. “Let’s find a good pub,” he said. “One that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg for beer.”

“I know a place.” Harry needed a drink after the morning he had. 

“May I come?” Malfoy asked. 

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione before answering. “Do you feel well enough?”

“Yes. I can go anywhere.”

He was still uncertain. “Um . . . okay, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy said softly. Harry squinted at him. There was no way he wasn’t trying to manipulate them; this was Malfoy after all.

They finished up their lunch. Malfoy grabbed his silly umbrella again. Ron and Hermione Vanished the empty containers and plastic forks. 

“Ready?” Harry asked. “It’s just around the corner; I thought we’d walk.” Malfoy grimaced.

The flats that Harry lived in were for wizards and witches, but they weren’t anything special. The building was old and covered in sun-bleached cinderblock. Its name was _The Witch’s Cauldron_ ; above the main office loomed a gigantic witch with a jaunty hat and voluptuous cleavage. She held no cauldron, and Harry always suspected the name referenced her anatomy.

The car park had cracked asphalt and weeds; a few crusty old wizards hovered around trying to make a buck. There was a small pool, but it’d been recently shut down again. Somebody kept transfiguring the water into jelly, and nobody could figure out _why_. 

They took their time on the street. Ron and Hermione had on sunglasses, but their faces were already taking on color. Malfoy blotted his forehead with a handkerchief and sneered a little; his stupid umbrella almost knocked Harry in the face a few times.

Besides the vampire strip club, Lucy’s was Harry’s favorite place to drink. It was a hole in the wall wizarding pub that catered to the local magical population. Very few tourists knew about it, and Harry liked it that way. There were only so many Bermuda shorts and tower margaritas he could take.

He led them into an old shopping center. Between a Thai restaurant and a mildew-smelling launderette was a dented green door with a rusty padlock. He glanced around before using his wand to tap out the famous guitar riff in Deep Purple’s _Smoke on the Water_ on the padlock. The door popped open.

Inside was a small lobby with broken chairs and a dusty counter. On the floor were the remains of ceiling tiles. They slipped down a side hallway and encountered a beaded curtain. It looked like only a dark room lay beyond the curtain, but Harry knew better.

“Right this way,” he said over his shoulder. Malfoy coughed dramatically.

They passed through the beads. A smoky but comfortable pub greeted them. It was small, with a few booths along the back and a circular bar that had a handful of tilted stools and tabletop video poker. Neon art and road signs clung to the walls. A few customers glanced up from their gambling. (The only difference between Muggle and magical video poker: sometimes the magical version is sensitive to bribes and threats.)

Taking up a booth, they ordered a round of ale and a pitcher of water. The bartender was a gnarled hag with a nose that resembled a nibbled-on potato. She wore a red sequin visor and green aviator sunglasses. Harry slid her a ten for a tip. “No tap water, please.” The stuff that came out of the faucets here tasted like arse and rust, and Harry swore purifying charms never fully got rid of the flavor.

Malfoy refused to drink anything. Harry ignored him and downed his first pint in about ten minutes. Fuck. He really needed that. 

Hermione cast an air-filter charm to eliminate all the cigarette smoke. “How do people _breathe_ in this city?”

Harry held up the fag he was about to put in his mouth. “I guess that means I can’t smoke?”

She sighed. “Blow it away from me.”

“I’ll get the next round,” Malfoy said, and came back with more ale and shots of whiskey.

Harry grabbed a shot. “You must wanna see me sick up.” He drained the shot and chased it with the ale. He took quick puffs from his cigarette to prevent himself from gagging.

“So, Malfoy,” Ron said loudly, “are you really cursed or is this some evil plot?”

Malfoy smiled blandly. “Not to worry. I’m really cursed.” He placed his hand on Harry’s thigh.

Harry’s head spun from the whiskey and he was having a hard time understanding the meaning behind Malfoy’s touch. His hand felt nice and warm, and who cared about the implications when there was a girl trapped somewhere in a house with vampires? Christ. He gulped some more ale. Why was the world so terrible? 

“Vampires suck,” Harry slurred. Ron laughed drunkenly. “No, I mean it. You wouldn’t be laughing if you saw what I did this morning.”

Hermione looked very alarmed. “What happened?”

Harry motioned to the bartender for another whiskey. “Wyatt needed my help with a crime scene. A nan, brother, and sister all tortured to death. I found the messages from the kidnapped sister.” The hand on his thigh tightened. 

“Oh, no!” Hermione cried. “I’m so sorry!”

The bartender sent over the shot. Harry really shouldn’t mix whiskey and beer, but _oh well_. He swallowed the whiskey. He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Malfoy said quietly. Harry glanced at him, and his eyes were very tender. What the hell?

“Yeah, sorry, mate,” Ron said, then grinned. “You know what would make it better? More whiskey.”

Harry grinned back. “Okay.” Ron bought them some more shots. Harry drained his without thinking. His stomach rolled. 

He lost track after that. The conversation was a blur; Malfoy dragged a hand up and down his thigh. Noise came from across the pub; either people were fighting or a group had entered. He didn’t have the ability to care. His head lolled back. He was under water. 

“Harry?” Hermione said.

“Huh?”

“I don’t mind taking him home,” Malfoy said. There was some discussion.

Hermione suddenly appeared in front of his face. “Malfoy’s going to take you back to your flat. Is that all right?”

Christ. Where was he? He couldn’t remember. He just wanted to sleep.

He found himself clinging to Malfoy’s shoulders. He was laughing and he didn’t know why.

“I’m going to chance Apparating,” Malfoy said.

“Good luck with that,” Ron said.

 _Wait!_ Harry wanted to say, and he felt the terrible squeeze of Apparition before he was ready. They appeared in his flat. Harry started dry heaving. 

Malfoy went to his kitchen and brought back a glass. He conjured up some water. “Drink.”

Harry gulped the water down. Ugh. His stomach was still churning.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Malfoy helped him to his bedroom. Harry fell back on his bedding and gagged some more. The world was spinning so fucking much. 

“Any chance you have alcohol poisoning?”

“No.” Harry fell asleep. He woke up when somebody took off his shirt. He didn’t even open his eyes and he was asleep again in seconds. 

When he became aware again, he hovered at consciousness. Somebody was touching him all over. He was cold. Suddenly there was a mouth on his neck. He cried out, thinking it was a vampire.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Harry knew that voice, but he couldn’t put it to a face. “Merlin, you taste so good.” A warm tongue lapped at his throat. Harry moaned.

“You like that?” The voice was deep and posh; nearly everything that Harry had fantasized about. “Please—I want to make you feel good.”

Harry opened his eyes a little. He was entranced: the most beautiful creature loomed above him. Its skin glowed and its eyes were so very dark. Harry didn’t understand what he was seeing, but he didn’t care. Something this beautiful wanted to make him feel good.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry moaned, and widened his legs. The creature settled between his thighs; it scattered kisses all over his stomach. It took his cock into its mouth. _Fuck._ Harry hadn’t even realized he was pants-less.

The creature whimpered and bobbed its head hungrily. Harry was absolutely lost. God, he needed this. He’d been so lonely for so long, and he was tired, so very tired. He laced his fingers in beautiful blond hair and fucked into that warm mouth. Yes, yes. This was exactly what he needed.

“Harry,” the creature whispered, pulling away a little. It lapped at Harry’s hipbones, along his thighs. Then it enveloped his cock again, sucking hard, and Harry came. His orgasm lulled him back to sleep.

*

It was hours later when Harry woke up again. His head was throbbing but he was sober. His eyes snapped open. Malfoy had sucked his cock. He glanced over and found Malfoy asleep next to him. Anger rushed through him: How fucking dare he!

He waved on the lights and moved to loom over Malfoy. He dug his wand into Malfoy’s cheek.

“Get up.”

Malfoy blinked at him sleepily. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you out of my flat. _Now._ ”

“What?”

Harry pressed his wand harder into Malfoy’s cheek. “Get moving or I will hex you.”

Malfoy scrambled out of bed. He pulled his shirt on. “Wait—I don’t understand.”

Harry sent a Stinging Jinx at Malfoy’s face. Malfoy dodged out of the way.

“I let you into my home and you _assault me_?” Harry yelled.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Malfoy threw up a protective shield and backed out of the room slowly. “It must’ve been the curse!”

“Likely excuse! _Furnunculus!_ ” He wanted Malfoy to suffer. “ _Vermiculus!_ ” His spells bounced off Malfoy’s shield, and he yelled in frustration.

“I swear I don’t remember!” Malfoy screamed back.

“GET OUT!” His anger made the walls shake. 

Malfoy ran for it. His front door slammed shut a moment later. Harry went to his living room to make sure he was really gone. “ _Colloportus_ ,” he said with his wand pointed at the door. Malfoy better not try to break through his locking spell or Harry would rip his guts out.

He collapsed on his sofa, an arm thrown over his face. Malfoy had ruined _everything_. He didn’t even want to think about why. He took a deep, shuddering breath. 

He’d known for a while that he wasn’t exactly straight, but he’d been waiting for the right man to sleep with. He’d been waiting for somebody he could trust. Somebody who was worth falling in love with. Malfoy had stolen that from him. Malfoy knew that he’d been completely shit-faced. He knew that Harry had been in no position to give consent. He still did it anyway. Harry didn’t care if it was the curse or if Malfoy was just fucking with him or even if Malfoy was harboring feelings for him, Harry _hated him_ now. He never wanted to see his stupid fucking face again.

That nan’s dead eyes popped up in his mind. Harry clawed at his head. No! He couldn’t think of that now. He needed to get some sleep. He remembered how her arm had been broken at a weird angle. He rushed to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before vomiting. 

He slumped on the floor; the cool tile was soothing against his cheek. Why the hell had Malfoy looked like that when he was sucking him off? Had Harry just imagined it? He must’ve. Or maybe it’d been the curse that turned his eyes so dark and his complexion so . . . glowy. 

As he dozed, he thought about how good Malfoy’s mouth had felt around his cock. _God dammit._

*

In the morning Harry woke up to banging on his front door. He groaned and used all of his power to magically open it from the bathroom. It was only after that he remembered Malfoy; he prepared himself for another confrontation.

Wyatt appeared in the doorway. “I’ve been calling you all morning.” He got a good look at Harry. “Jesus—are you all right?”

“No.” Harry realized he was starkers. “Will you throw me that towel?” Catching the towel, Harry wrapped it around his waist and crawled to his feet. “What did you want?”

Wyatt hesitated. “We’ve identified the Nightingale house but it’s deserted again. I need your help protecting it from the No-Maj so that Judy has another shot at collecting the magical signature.”

“So you didn’t find the girl there?” Harry asked.

“No, but a No-Maj said he saw a girl being forced out of the house last night. We’ve been unable to actually get inside, but Judy has picked up traces of magic.”

Harry leaned heavily against the wall. “Maybe the girl’s a witch. Did you try to text her?”

“We tried but we didn’t get a response. It would make sense if the girl was a witch.” He sighed. “I need all the data you got from the trailer, too.”

“My wand’s on the sofa.” He closed his eyes briefly. 

Wyatt squinted at him. “Do you have it in you to help?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. Lemme put some clothes on.”

“Thanks. I’ll grab the data and meet you in the truck.” Wyatt went to the living room and Harry heard him muttering “ _Gemino Notitia_ ” to copy the evidence from his wand.

Harry rummaged in his medicine cabinet for a hangover potion. “Thank god,” he said when he discovered one hiding behind a large bottle of _Headache-Be-Gone_. He drained the potion and hit himself with a few cleaning spells to get rid of the sweaty funk from a night of drinking. Feeling a lot more focused and agile, he jogged to his bedroom to find something to wear.

The house was a good thirty minutes away with traffic. Even though Harry had been in Vegas for just under two years, he still had a hard time knowing where everything was. They headed east on the 215, and it was only after they’d gotten off on a side street that he realized they were in another town. 

They pulled up in front of a house that must’ve been built fifty, sixty years ago. The roof was falling apart and the concrete porch leaned almost entirely to one side. The windows were either boarded up or covered in tinfoil. In the garden a regiment of cacti guarded the path from the gate to the front door. They would probably have to blast apart the vegetation to get inside.

Harry left the truck. “Is there a way in from the back?” 

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Wyatt said. “We know the vampires used a window to get in, but if we find anything dangerous in there I’d prefer that to not be our only exit.”

A blond man appeared over the back fence. He yelled to Todd on the kerb.

“What the fuck is Malfoy doing here?” Harry snarled.

Wyatt shrugged. “He volunteered. Said he had experience contracting with the crime division at your old work.”

“Bollocks!” Harry was furious. “I was with the Aurors for almost five years and I never heard about Malfoy working for us.”

His friend shrugged again. “I’m not paying him and we’re understaffed as it is. What harm could he do?”

Harry glowered. “You’d be surprised.” He knew he was wrong for saying the next bit. “He was a follower of Magic Hitler.”

Wyatt’s eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t you two close in age?” Harry nodded vigorously. “Are you telling me he was like the magical version of Hitler Youth?” Wyatt’s voice softened. “That’s _terrible_.”

Harry groaned; he hadn’t meant to make Malfoy sympathetic!

Malfoy and Todd approached them. Malfoy didn’t look at Harry, but he could tell Malfoy was hyperaware of him.

“The back door was cemented over ages ago,” Malfoy reported. “Our only way in is through a window or the front door.”

Wyatt sighed and cast a Tempus charm. “Hopefully us being in Henderson means we have a little more time before the No-Maj show up. I can’t imagine the two police departments communicate very well.” He motioned for Judy to join them. “How much time do you need to pick up the magic sig?” 

She thought about it. “Forty or fifty minutes.”

Wyatt swore. “There might be more bodies in there, too.” He paused. “All right—this is what we need to do: We need to get through all that cacti in ten minutes. We should throw up a privacy charm and a _Repello No-Majtum_ just to be sure. If any No-Maj get hurt I’ll just have to deal with it down at headquarters.”

The group frowned at the wall of ensnarled cacti. 

“Ten minutes,” Wyatt said. “I don’t care what you do just make it quick. Judy needs as much time as possible!”

Todd and Officer Welles rushed to cover the property in the protective and repelling charms. Wyatt cut open the wire fence to allow for more space. 

Harry looked at Judy, completely ignoring Malfoy. “How should we deal with the cacti? The Blasting Curse?”

Judy sucked her teeth. “That could work. We’d just have to make sure nothing catches on fire.”

“I can be ready with an _Aguamenti_ ,” Malfoy said.

“Good thinking,” Judy said. Harry rolled his eyes.

They lined up in front of the garden and started blasting apart the cacti with multiple _Confringos_. The explosions were loud and violent, and Harry hoped that their privacy charms held.

It was slow going; Harry and Judy had to make sure their curses weren’t too strong or else the whole garden would go up in flames. Malfoy shot water on any cactus fragment that crackled ominously. The sun beat down on their heads, and sweat stung Harry’s eyes. He didn’t want to break his concentration to wipe his forehead.

After ten minutes or so, they’d cleared the pathway to the front steps. The smell of fire hung in the air. 

Wyatt and Todd quickly moved to break down the door. Harry waited for Wyatt to motion him inside. When Wyatt called for everyone else to follow, Harry steeled himself for whatever waited on the other side of the door.

To his relief, no bodies were found in the house. The living room was destroyed like in the mobile home, but the bedrooms were untouched and all the blood splatters were thankfully missing. It was obvious that the house had been abandoned for a while; rodents nested on top of cabinets and various animal droppings trailed throughout the rooms. 

Judy got to work immediately on casting _Aparecium Signum_ on all the damage in the living room.

“This is strange,” Harry said, crouching down. Scattered all over the floor were flyers and other advertisements for The Hive. 

“Isn’t that the titty bar you like going to?” Wyatt asked. Malfoy jerked.

“Yeah.” Harry was thinking hard. Was it strange that this stuff was here? Wyatt had said the vampires had been using the house for a while, but he didn’t know enough about their community to determine if this was important evidence. Maybe loads of vampires were associated with the club. He thought about Tallulah. “I know someone I can ask about it.”

Malfoy sneered. “The vampire that bit you?” Harry ignored him again.

“I need you two outside,” Wyatt said. “Patrol the premises. Make sure no No-Maj interrupts us.”

“All right.” Harry pocketed a few flyers and went outside. He was good at patrolling; most of his job as an Auror had been hovering around and making sure nobody was causing trouble. 

Malfoy spoke to him as he ended his first tour around the block. “I swear I didn’t know what I was doing!”

Harry glared. “Aren’t you just full of lies?” Malfoy looked confused. “You told Wyatt that you’d worked with the Aurors, but funny enough I don’t recall ever hearing about it.”

Malfoy flushed a bit. “You’ve been gone for years! How would you know?”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Harry snarled.

“Wait—” Malfoy grabbed his arm. “Let me explain.”

Harry tried to yank his arm away, but he locked eyes with Malfoy and stopped. Malfoy didn’t look like himself. He was . . . _breathtaking_. His gaze was darker than usual, and his skin was so clear and soft looking. He practically sparkled. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Malfoy whispered. He moved closer. “Please don’t be mad at me. I never meant to hurt you. I want to prove to you that you can trust me.” His mouth looked so inviting; it was pink and plump, and Harry knew that he would taste amazing. 

_This is not real_ , said a voice in his head. _Something dangerous is making you feel this way._

Harry yanked himself from Malfoy’s grip and fell to the ground. Malfoy clutched at his head, whimpering. He seemed to be battling something internally. Crying out, he beat his fists in the air.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy Disapparated.

There was rustling right outside the house. “Fuck!” Harry had allowed himself to be distracted. He charged down the street with his wand drawn. He had no idea what he would do if he encountered Muggles.

It was Officer Welles throwing heaps of cacti into a bag. “Can’t let these go to waste,” she said over her shoulder.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Lots of stuff! Cactus is great for medicinal purposes. It also makes a great jelly.” 

Harry eyed the green sludge and greatly doubted that. Annoyed, he took off down the street for his second patrol. _Somebody_ had to protect the area. He walked faster than he needed, trying to escape whatever the fuck just happened with Malfoy.

When he was finishing up his third lap, Judy and Wyatt emerged from the house, looking very relieved.

“Got it!” Judy said.

“So, what’s next?” Harry asked.

“I’ll run the signature through our database and see if it belongs to any local witch or wizard,” she answered.

Wyatt sighed. “Let’s hope there’s a match.”

Harry nodded in agreement.


	3. The Runaway

Harry wanted to head straight for The Hive to see if he could question some humans, but emotional and physical exhaustion was catching up to him. He ended up face-down in bed, still fully-clothed. He slipped in and out of consciousness, and it made for unsettling dreams. In sleep he was convinced that Malfoy was a vampire that’d figured out a way to walk around in the sun. Malfoy was beguiling him so that he could attack Harry when his defenses were down. He wanted nothing more than to drain Harry of blood and leave him for dead. That’d been his goal since the first time they met as kids. Harry would be an idiot to ever trust him. 

The next time he opened his eyes it was dusk. He yawned and slowly got out of bed. In the living room Ron lounged on his sofa, watching telly. Harry blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

“Tired of the gambling and buffets already?” he said.

Ron looked up at him, his face shadowed. “Hermione and I had a row.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry sat down next him. “What was it about?”

“What wasn’t it about?” He sighed loudly. “I’m sick of always coming second to her.”

“Oh.”

“I lost my temper with her because she’s determined to help Malfoy with his barmy curse, but this holiday was supposed to be for _us_ , not anyone else. Especially not for fucking Malfoy!”

Harry chewed on his lip. “Have you explained this to her?”

“Of course I have! She just starts lecturing me. You know how she can be.”

“Yeah, I do, but I’m not the one who married her.” Now it was Harry’s turn to sigh. “You just need to be patient. You fell in love with her for a reason. She’s always been a workaholic. You’ve known that since we were kids.”

Ron leaned back on the cushions. “I’m just so _tired_. I’m tired of fighting with her. I dunno if it’s worth it anymore.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. He knew he shouldn’t take what Ron said in anger seriously, but it always felt a bit like his world was ending when his best mates talked about splitting up. He squeezed Ron’s shoulder. “You can always sleep here if you want. I’m starving. You want to order pizza?”

Ron perked up. “I will never say no to pizza.”

After pizza, Ron took off because he had tickets for a walking tour of haunted Vegas. (“No, the tour is ran by one of us, so there’ll be real ghosts. I’m hoping one of them will be a mobster that looks all holey from Muggle guns.”)

Harry was glad when Ron left because it freed him up to question Tallulah alone. Even though he’d vowed to never go near a vampire again, he still had a little soft spot for her and spent some time grooming himself in the mirror. He wished it wasn’t 37 degrees outside, or he’d wear his fetching black jacket. The next best option was his green button shirt. 

There was a knock on his door. He groaned, hating that he’d become popular in the last couple of days. He groaned again when he saw who was on his doorstep: Hermione and Malfoy.

It took everything in him not to slam the door in their faces, but he knew he couldn’t do that to Hermione.

She was quite pale; he could tell she’d been crying. “I heard you were going to talk to that vampire. We wanted to tag along,” she said.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

She hesitated. “Malfoy told me about the case. I was interested—”

“I’m interested too and I knew my only chance to be included was to show up with Granger,” Malfoy said.

“Shouldn’t you not risk being around me?” Harry said, ruthless. “Wouldn’t want you to go mental again and start screaming at nothing.”

Malfoy looked away; a vein throbbed in his forehead.

“Can we not fight?” Hermione asked. “I’ve had enough of that today.”

“I know. Ron was here,” Harry said.

“Of course he was!” she said shrilly. “He’s codependent! He can’t be alone!”

“He went off to look at holey ghosts by himself,” he pointed out.

Hermione scoffed. “I knew you’d take his side.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” he lied.

“Are we going or not?” Malfoy sounded quite bored with their argument.

“Fine,” Harry said without looking at him.

Hermione clapped her hands together. “Great! Let’s go see if we can learn anything useful. It’ll be like old times!”

Trying to hide his annoyance, Harry locked up and followed them to the street. While it was nighttime, the air was still quite warm, the sidewalk practically steaming with heat. They fought against bundles of wandering tourists; Malfoy had no problem elbowing around people who were walking too slowly.

When they reached The Hive, Malfoy glared up at its flashing neon sign. “How _common_ ,” he said, playing up his snobbery.

“Wait here. Lemme go inside and see if she’ll come out to talk,” Harry said.

“Why can’t we go inside with you?” Hermione asked.

Harry flushed a little. “Because I’d never be able to look at you again.” She blushed too. 

Inside he looked around for Tallulah on the main floor; when he didn’t see her, he slipped down a hallway to the dressing rooms. He knocked on a door that he hoped was the right one; the other looked like it was the toilet. 

A tall vampire in a blonde wig opened the door. “What do you want?”

He passed her a twenty. “Can you tell Tallulah somebody wants to talk to her outside?”

“Maybe,” the vampire said. 

He searched his wallet for more money and produced a crumpled five. The vampire scrunched up her nose. 

“I’ll see,” she said, and closed the door in his face.

He wasn’t very convinced that Tallulah would come out. He went back outside and shrugged. “We should wait awhile but I’m not sure if she’s gonna show.” 

But he was wrong: A few minutes later Tallulah emerged from the building; she was spilling out of tiny knickers and a bra. She caught sight of Harry. “Oh, it’s you.”

Malfoy stepped in front of Harry; he was hissing loudly, his back arched like a cat. 

Stumbling back, Tallulah hissed as well. She seemed alarmed but confused. “What the fuck are you?”

Malfoy got into her face. “You stay away from him or I’ll rip your sodding throat out!”

Tallulah didn’t back down. “I’d like to see you try!”

“Please!” Hermione yelled. “Everyone calm down! There’s no need for violence!”

“You’ve got no business—” Tallulah turned to Hermione, then stopped. “Oh.”

Harry had his wand out. “What’s wrong?” The two women didn’t answer him. They stared at each other. “Do you know her?” he asked Hermione.

“No,” Hermione answered softly. She seemed unable to look away from Tallulah.

He yanked Tallulah away from her. “Leave her alone!” He knew vampires had some sort of beguiling abilities, but he didn’t know why Tallulah was using them on Hermione.

Tallulah hissed again and tried to bite his hand. 

“ _Incarcerous!_ ” Ropes sprang from Malfoy’s wand and wrapped around Tallulah.

“No!” Harry and Hermione yelled.

“God damn you!” Tallulah was writhing, trying to gnaw through her constraints.

Harry cancelled the spell. Tallulah crouched into an attack position on the ground. “Don’t ever do that to me again!”

“We won’t! I promise!” Harry turned on Malfoy. “Put your wand away! You are only making things worse!”

“She was trying to harm you!” Malfoy insisted.

“She could be trying to swallow my head whole and I still wouldn’t want you to hurt her!”

“Malfoy,” Hermione said quietly. “Harry’s the one who knows her. Let’s give them some room.” She pulled him back a bit.

Harry took out one of the flyers from his pocket. “I know we started off like shite, but I need your help.” He held out the paper but she refused to take it. He laid it at her feet. “A family was murdered by vampires and a girl has been kidnapped. We found a pile of those at the scene.” 

“Do you know what they do to vampires who snitch?” Tallulah said. “I don’t know anything about a kidnapped girl or folks being murdered.”

“Are you sure?” Harry got close to her, trying to catch her eye. “What could I do to make you want to talk?” His schmoozing wasn’t working; Tallulah was too busy staring at Hermione to listen to him.

After a bit of work, he got Hermione’s attention and motioned to Tallulah. “Help me,” he mouthed.

Hermione gulped and stepped closer to Tallulah. “It would help us a lot if you told us what you know,” she said softly. “We promise we won’t tell anyone where the information came from. Who would have that sort of promotional material with them?”

Tallulah’s eyes roamed over Hermione. She licked her lips. “If I tell you, what will you give me in return?”

Blushing, Hermione said, “I—I don’t know.”

“Money,” Harry said. “We’ll pay you if you help us out.”

Tallulah hissed again. “I wasn’t talking to you!” She turned back to Hermione, her demeanor all flirtation. “What will _you_ give me?”

Hermione’s pupils were blown wide. She was breathing hard.

“Hermione?” Harry said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Hermione said, not looking at him. She grabbed the flyer from the ground and used her wand as a quill. She handed the flyer over to Tallulah. “That’s the hotel I’m staying at and the room I’m in. Ring me up when you want to talk about what you know.”

Tallulah smiled. “I will.”

Confused, Harry frowned at them. Was Hermione trying to pull this vampire? Hermione turned to him and Malfoy.

“Let’s get out of here. We’ve made enough trouble for one night.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but he glanced at Tallulah and she bared her teeth at him. Okay. He needed to accept that he couldn’t win this one.

Once they were back on the street, Harry turned to Hermione. 

“What was that all about?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing important.”

He looked at Malfoy. “Do you think it was nothing important?”

Malfoy seemed a little shocked that Harry was speaking to him. “I rather not get in the middle of this.”

Harry was aghast. “See! Malfoy even saw something happen between you two.”

“I didn’t say that,” Malfoy said.

Hermione crossed her arms. “I got her to agree to speak to me, didn’t I?”

He was relieved. “You mean it was all an act? You weren’t attracted to her?”

“I didn’t say that.” Her voice was quiet.

“What?” Harry gaped. “You’re married to Ron!”

“I’m fully aware of that, thank you very much,” she snapped. 

“How about we go somewhere to talk? A teashop perhaps?” Malfoy said.

Harry did his best American accent: “Ain’t nothing like that around here, pal.”

“Coffee then,” he said.

Exhaling loudly, Hermione mustered a smile. “Yes, that’s a good idea. There’s one of those chain coffee shops just down the street.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Harry asked. His heart was thumping fast. “Are you seriously thinking about breaking it off with Ron?”

Hermione sighed. “I don’t know! But outside on the street, sweating off all my makeup, isn’t where I want to discuss it.”

Harry knew he was glowering; he couldn’t help it. He was feeling particularly loyal to Ron at the moment. “Fine. Whatever.”

It took them a couple of minutes to get to the shop. They were held up by a crosswalk; waiting with them was a horde of cars breathing exhaust and jerking with pent up energy. Somebody was blasting chest-vibrating music. Malfoy had the deepest sneer on his face, his skin gleaming with sweat under the yellow streetlight.

At the coffee shop Malfoy ordered English Breakfast. “You’re going to be disappointed,” Harry said in his ear.

Malfoy’s mouth fell open. He leaned too close. “Yeah?”

Harry stepped back. “Or maybe you won’t.” He ordered an iced tea and Malfoy gaped even more.

“ _Iced?_ ” Malfoy said.

Harry snickered and went to find them a table. Hermione and Malfoy joined him with their drinks.

“So,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Hermione sipped her coffee innocently. “Do we think the vampire—”

“Tallulah,” Harry said.

“Thank you. Do we think Tallulah knows anything?”

“She acted pretty suspicious to me.” Malfoy added sugar to his tea and took a drink. “Ugh!”

Harry smirked at him. “That’s how she always acts.”

“What do you mean ‘always’?” Malfoy glared. “Is she the one who gave you that bite?”

“Yes,” Harry said defiantly.

“Really?” Hermione squeaked.

“Why do you care?” Harry asked her. She shrugged. “What does that mean? Why can’t you just deny that you were encouraging Tallulah to flirt with you?”

She blushed, but her voice remained steady. “Because I’m not going to lie to you.”

He was outraged. “Your marriage to Ron means that little to you? You were meant for each other! He _adores_ you! All he wants is for you to pay more attention to him. Are you really prepared to throw that all away because of some _vampire_?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Hermione was red in the face. “You left us! You ran away! Ron and I have been struggling for years, and you have no idea! So don’t lecture me on things you know nothing about!”

“I didn’t _run away_!”

“Yes, you did! You turned your back on all your obligations, on all your friends and family. And for what? To waste your life staring at naked women and playing Wild West detective?”

“I didn’t turn my back on you!” He was yelling; there were people looking. Malfoy tried to touch his shoulder but Harry pushed his hand away. “Do you realize how _selfish_ you sound? Can’t you see what a fucking mess I am? No, of course you can’t! It was one of the reasons why I had to leave. Both you and Ron wanted to pretend everything was fine, and I just _couldn’t_ anymore.”

Hermione breathed deeply, struggling to control herself. Her voice was very soft when she finally spoke: “I understand that life has been hard for you. I understand that you feel lost. I understand that I need to do more to help you. But, please, don’t assume you know everything about my marriage, because you don’t and I find it quite insulting.”

Damn her! Hermione always had to be the adult in the situation. He sipped at his tea, seething. Even when they were screaming at each other she had the ability to make him feel like a complete arse. 

“So,” Malfoy said, conversationally, “this tea is shite.”

Hermione laughed. “There has to be somewhere you can get a proper cup here.”

“Doubtful. I’ve been looking for ages.” Harry’s tone was still rough from anger.

“That’s it, I’m gone,” Malfoy said, pretending to get up. This made Hermione giggle. Harry squinted at them, not liking how friendly they were being with each other.

Hermione sobered. “There was another thing we wanted to ask you, Harry.”

He groaned. “What?”

Hesitating, she glanced at Malfoy. “Well, you see, we don’t know our way around here, and we need help finding a Curse-Breaker—”

“Nope,” he said.

“What? Why not?” she asked.

He met Malfoy's eyes for the first time in a while. “Malfoy knows why.”

Confused, Hermione said, “But I’m sure you know somebody! You could just give us their name!”

“I actually don’t know a Curse-Breaker. Maybe Wyatt does, but you lot can ask him yourselves.”

“We helped you question Tallulah!” Hermione said.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, fuming.

Hermione was glaring. “Harry—”

“It’s all right,” Malfoy said. “I understand. There’s no need to row again.” He looked at her as if to say: _Don’t worry. Leave this up to me._

She stood. “Fine.” She didn’t look at Harry. “I better be off. I want to do some sight-seeing before it gets too late.”

“Will you be around tomorrow?” Harry said.

“Probably,” she said, a little cold. She left.

Harry turned on Malfoy. “Stay away from her.”

Malfoy sneered just a little. “Why?”

“Because you are a liar! I’d bet good money that you aren’t even cursed.”

“I’m not lying!” 

Harry worked his mouth. “Just—stay away from her. You can find a Curse-Breaker on your own. You don’t need her help.”

Malfoy cocked his head. “I hope you know that I have no interest in fucking her.”

“Oh, I know.” Harry stood. “She’s too _conscious_ and _sober_ for you.”

He left the shop; Malfoy chased after him. They turned into an alley filled with rubbish.

“I’m sorry I did that to you,” Malfoy said, panting. “Please believe me!”

Harry spun around. “Why should I believe you? You cause trouble everywhere you go. There’s obviously more going on that you refuse to tell me. Like your bloody eyes getting all weird whenever I get close to you.”

“My eyes wouldn’t do that if you just let me touch you.”

“How do you know that?” Finally he caught Malfoy in a lie! “I thought you were being controlled by some mysterious curse. How do you know that my touch is the answer?”

“Because . . . I feel it,” Malfoy whispered. “I . . . ache for it.”

Harry crowded him against the wall. “I’ve never heard of a curse like that.” He wanted to toy with Malfoy. He got even closer and breathed into his face: “Just admit it: You’re obsessed with me. You always have been.”

Malfoy was trembling. “I can’t deny that I find you attractive, but—”

“But what?” Harry’s lips were so close to his skin. “You wouldn’t want to fuck me after the curse is broken?”

“I didn’t say that,” he croaked.

Harry knew he should stay away from Malfoy, but he’d lost most of his self-control a long time ago. He felt like shite, and here was Malfoy practically gagging for it. _I’ll make him gag_ , he thought. Harry was angry, very lost. Hurting Malfoy would make him feel in control again. Yes, Malfoy had violated him, but he could take something from Malfoy, too.

“You want to touch me?” Harry said hotly into his ear.

Malfoy groaned. “Yes.”

“Then beg for it,” he said. 

Malfoy’s expression crumbled. He hung his head. 

“On your knees. In this disgusting alley.”

“Harry—”

“Don’t call me that!” He was even angrier. “Why do you think you can use my first name now? We’re not friends!”

Malfoy sank to his knees. He was still not looking at Harry. There was silence.

“I thought I told you to beg?”

“Please,” Malfoy said quietly. He gulped. “I want—”

A door banged open. They both froze. A kitchen worker threw something in the bin and didn’t even blink when he caught sight of them. He rolled his eyes and went back inside.

Malfoy let out a pant. “Please—let’s go back to your flat. I’ll do anything you ask!”

“You have no business being in my flat!” Harry was yelling and he didn’t care who heard him. “Do you think because I let you follow me around that I _like you_? I can’t fucking stand you!”

Malfoy’s face was very flushed. There was a strange expression in his eyes; they were wide and frightened, but disgust also lurked there. Licking his lips, he said softly, “I don’t expect you to like me.”

“Good. Because I’m not Hermione. I’m not about to drop everything to help you with some bullshit curse. You can’t fool me!”

“I know.” He crawled closer. “Please, Potter. I want to suck your cock. I’m so good at it, too. I’ll have you trembling in no time.”

Harry was having a hard time breathing. He stepped forward. “More.”

“I can take it so deeply. My throat will be so warm and silky, like a woman’s cunt.”

Harry cupped Malfoy’s face, dragging his fingers over his stubble. He yanked Malfoy’s head back by his hair and got close to whisper harshly: “You have no fucking idea what I want. What I like. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Yes.” Malfoy had his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open. He looked like he was on the verge of orgasm. 

Harry watched him for a moment or two. Seeing Malfoy like this was very hot. He fought against the urge to caress him. No, Malfoy didn’t deserve it. Nothing about this was romantic.

Tightening his hold, Harry awkwardly undid his jeans and took his cock out. Malfoy’s eyes snapped open; they were unnaturally dark.

“God,” Malfoy breathed, staring at his cock.

“You like what you see?” Harry stroked himself a bit, his foreskin moving with his hand. Malfoy nodded. 

“Tell me.”

“I like your cock,” Malfoy whispered.

“Good, now open your mouth.” Harry’s voice was rough. “Stick out your tongue like a good boy.” Malfoy complied. His tongue was very pink. Harry dragged the head of his cock over Malfoy’s wet tongue, along his cheek, even under his chin. He made sure that he left a little trail of pre-come. Malfoy moaned deeply, and tried to take him into his mouth.

Harry yanked his hair. “Don’t you fucking dare! I choose when you taste me.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He tried to steady his breath. “Now suck my bollocks.” He loosened his grip so that Malfoy could properly angle his head. Malfoy sucked at him eagerly, wetly; it took everything in Harry not to tremble.

“Oh, Harry,” Malfoy moaned, and Harry pulled his head back to yell at him again, but his anger dissipated when he looked into Malfoy’s black eyes. They were so fucking beautiful. Harry wanted to lose himself in them. 

“Please . . . let me taste your cock,” Malfoy murmured. 

He was not in the position to say no. His head had clouded over like he was intoxicated; he knew something dangerous was making him feel this way. He didn’t care. 

“Fuck, yes,” he said, keeping eye contact as Malfoy sucked him down. They both moaned loudly. His eyelids fluttered, but he forced himself to keep on looking. He felt drawn to Malfoy like a magnet. 

Whimpering, Malfoy bobbed his head, his tongue flicking and licking. “God,” Harry said, finally unable to keep his eyes open. He threw his head back and just let himself be taken. Who was he kidding? With a mouth like that, Malfoy was the one with the real power.

“May I use my hand?” Malfoy asked.

Harry struggled to respond. “Do whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy said without a trace of sarcasm. He sounded almost reverent. Harry didn’t know what to think.

Grasping his cock, Malfoy licked hotly up the shaft, swirling his tongue around the head. He scattered light kisses over Harry’s stomach, pushing his shirt up to drag his tongue through Harry’s belly hair. He was whispering something. Harry didn’t have the ability to ask him to speak up.

He stroked Harry slowly, his mouth slipping down to suck on his bollocks again. He came up to say: “Merlin, you taste so good. I knew you would. I can’t get enough.” Harry cradled his head, letting Malfoy’s devotion wash over him. Malfoy teased his cock some more with his tongue. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this—”

Harry stopped listening. Again, a little voice in his head piped up. It was like fighting off the Imperius Curse. _He’s planned this whole thing_ , the voice said. _Nothing safe has eyes like that. He’s a Slytherin, remember? It’s all manipulation._

“Take me all the way down,” Harry said, thinking more clearly. He was determined to recapture some control. “I want to choke you with my cock.”

Whimpering again, Malfoy grasped Harry’s hips, sinking his mouth down on his shaft. Harry tore his hands away.

“I don’t want you to touch me. Only your mouth,” Harry said. Malfoy gazed up at him, questioning. Harry pushed his face away a little. “Don’t fucking look at me.”

Malfoy nodded and relaxed his hands at his sides. All resistance left his body. Harry fisted his hair and yanked him down on his cock. Malfoy came willingly, utterly malleable, like a rag doll.

Harry thrust as deeply as possible, his cock breaching Malfoy’s throat. Malfoy gurgled, saliva escaping his mouth, his silky muscles fighting the intrusion. Malfoy didn’t struggle, even though he couldn’t breathe properly. Harry didn’t lessen his hold. Not yet. Just a few more seconds. Malfoy cried softly. Fuck, fuck, it shouldn’t feel this good to suffocate someone. He pulled away and Malfoy gasped for breath, tears streaming down his face.

“Want more?”

“Yes,” Malfoy rasped.

Harry forced him back down and thrust up with all his might. _Oh, God!_ It was heaven. He pulled back and thrust again, not caring that he had to be hurting Malfoy. He fell into a rhythm. What was Malfoy doing? He was making noise. Maybe he was sobbing. Harry touched his throat and thought he felt the outline of his cock there. He came hard, his whole body going numb with it.

Malfoy scrambled back, his chin dripping with saliva and come. Harry slumped against the wall, everything blurred. His head was spinning. 

When he regained control of himself, he opened his eyes and looked for Malfoy.

A few steps away Malfoy lay on the ground. He was crying. He hugged his knees, trembling.

Harry’s stomach churned. This was his fault. He’d hurt Malfoy for his own pleasure. He used to be a person who refused to harm others.

“Are you all right?” Harry knew the question was ridiculous.

“Just go,” Malfoy whispered. 

Harry wanted to stay, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have it in him to fix this. He Disapparated.


	4. Carson’s Curses and Other Catastrophes

When Hermione left the coffee shop, she risked strolling down Las Vegas Boulevard, or as everyone seemed to call it, “The Strip.” The only magic she allowed herself was a cooling charm around her face; she really thought it was poor judgment for Muggles to build a city in the middle of a desert.

Other pedestrians were sipping alcoholic beverages, and succumbing to the novelty of being able to drink on the street, she paused at a huddle of pubs and tried to see if any of them were magical. Probably not. She’d have to ask Harry about the other magical establishments here, because Lucy’s had been quite ingenious.

Sighing, she joined a long queue outside a bar constructed from bamboo and flanked by plastic palm trees. She knew other witches and wizards would use spells to bypass the waiting, but she refused to misuse her magic like that. The Wizarding World had to start thinking more about the rights of Muggles, and the people in front of her didn’t deserve to lose a portion of their memory just because she was impatient.

She was grinding her teeth. She was still on edge from her fight with Harry. It made her sad to see him in such bad shape. Yes, her struggling marriage was pretty much ruining her life at the moment, but she was still able to function, to experience bursts of happiness, to continue prospering at the Ministry. It seemed that Harry’s life was completely on hold. His flat had been a disaster. In her experience, dirtiness and men went hand-in-hand, but his filth was far beyond normal. He was depressed. She knew that. What had he yelled at her? Something about being messed up and her not having any idea. Well, he was wrong. She did have an idea; she just didn’t know how to help him.

“This lady looks like she’s ready to have a good time!” the bartender exclaimed when it was her turn to order. His spiked hair was literally dripping with gel and a couple of shell necklaces hung around his neck. She couldn’t see his feet, but she’d bet he was wearing flip-flops.

 _What a knobhead_ , she thought.

“You want our volcano pina colada,” he said, smirking.

“I do?” She examined the gigantic cup shaped as an exploding volcano, and was charmed. “Yes, I guess I do.”

“That’ll be forty-two dollars.”

“Wow,” she said, too lazy to really compute how much that was, but she knew that dollars and pounds were a bit the same, and the price of the drink could probably feed a large family.

Back on the street, she moved with the ocean of tourists, her head upturned as she stared at all the neon lights. Most wizards thought Muggles were boring, but all these flashing colors proved that they could dazzle just as well as Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have yelled at Harry. It was obvious that he related more to Ron than her, but still . . . she’d proven over and over that she was a reliable, capable friend, and Harry had just assumed the worst of her. She took an angry sip of her drink, swishing the sweet alcohol in her mouth. Ugh! And the way he was treating Malfoy. Couldn’t he see that Malfoy was hurting? If it’d been anyone else, he’d be chasing down a Curse-Breaker right this moment. Yes, Malfoy had done some terrible things in his youth, but he’d also spent the last ten years trying to make up for it. People changed, and Malfoy had become quite a nice person.

For a while she watched the Fountains of Bellagio dance to Frank Sinatra. The alcohol made her eyelids droop, a warm buzz coming over her. She felt herself relax. _Yes._ She needed this. The soaring water sparkled and the rhythmic lights strobed; she was quite entranced. She wished she could wrap her arms around someone; maybe snog them as the crooner music washed over her. 

That vampire had been so sexy. What did Harry say her name was? Something a southern belle would be named. Like Blanche or Scarlett or . . . she honestly wasn’t very familiar with the American South. She sighed. She wanted to go back to The Hive. She wanted to sit in the shadows and just watch the vampire do her thing. She’d never actually been to a strip club, but she imagined the vampire’s breasts would be bared . . . her beautiful auburn hair falling down her back . . . maybe she’d zero-in on Hermione like she had in the car park. She’d stare deep into Hermione’s eyes as her hands caressed her deliciously soft—

Okay. Wow. Hermione was breathing too hard. She didn’t want to walk back to her hotel in sticky knickers. _Get a hold of yourself_ , she thought.

She was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. She was desperate. A bit pathetic. She knew this. No one else did. 

What she couldn’t explain to Harry was how desperately she wanted to sleep with a woman. How disinterested she was in Ron. Her stomach clenched. She’d felt this way for so long, and it’d paralyzed her with guilt. But she was changing. It wasn’t fair to Ron, but she knew now their marriage wasn’t going to work out. Wait. No. That wasn’t entirely right. Or maybe it was. Maybe it would be foolish to think they could make it.

God, she hoped that Ron didn’t go back to their hotel room tonight. He’d yelled that he was going to stay with Harry, but he was always yelling things in anger and changing his mind when he’d calmed down. 

The truth was that Ron suffocated her. He wanted too much from her. Ron wanted her to be devoted to him, and she just didn’t have it in her. Not anymore. At one time she’d adored him. At one time she’d have gone to the end of the Earth to be with him. But something had changed. _She_ had changed. She’d changed in ways that were too profound to ignore.

The fountains ended, and she gulped down the rest of her pina colada. Her head was now swimming. Best to get back to the hotel while she could still remember where it was located.

Sighing again, she wandered back down the street, doing her best not to dwell on the vampire. There’d be plenty of time for that when she was in bed.

*

The next day Hermione sent an owl off to Harry but decided to stay away. Ron hadn’t come back, so they were probably hanging out together, and she honestly didn’t want to see either of them.

Instead she went to the spa. It was Muggle, but how could a full body massage not be good? She felt like she was floating as the masseuse worked over her muscles. Then, half-asleep and aching nicely, she sat for a green tea facial and a very gentle manicure. When she left the spa, her face felt raw but her nails were shiny and clean. Back in her room, she collapsed in the plush sofa and turned on the telly. The American commercials fascinated her. Some of them were even in Spanish. Oh, right. Las Vegas was quite close to Mexico. If she’d enjoyed riding a broom, she would have rented one and taken off for the border. The views were probably amazing.

She wondered how Malfoy was doing. He’d looked better at the coffee shop, but she knew the curse was still eating through his strength. She stuck her wand out the window and heralded an owl for the second time that day. The biggest owl she’d ever seen landed on her windowsill. “Argh!” She stumbled back. The thing was nearly half her size!

It squawked and stared at her impatiently. Wait a minute. This wasn’t an owl. It was a desert hawk!

Pointing her wand in its face, she peered closer to see if it carried the same money pouch as delivery owls. It did. 

“Wow,” she said, examining its enormous yellow beak. She held up a Dragot and a dollar. “Which do you prefer?” She’d discovered during her last visit with Harry that the wizarding community in Las Vegas preferred dollars over American magical money. The hawk confirmed this when it snatched the dollar from her hand.

She quickly wrote out a note to Malfoy: _How are you doing? I hope Harry didn’t completely ruin your night. When do you want to go looking for a Curse-Breaker? Hermione_

The hawk held out its talon for the note. A moment later it took off. She leaned against the sill and watched it disappear into the white sky. The messenger birds must’ve had some sort of invisibility charms on them; otherwise all the tourists below would wonder why so many birds were hanging about the casinos.

She didn’t receive a response from Malfoy, so she decided to take the search into her own hands. She’d never been the type to sit around. She rummaged through the closet, looking for something to wear. She’d packed a lot of summer dresses. No, those wouldn’t do. She was embarrassed to admit it, but she wanted to find clothes that made her look like someone who’d be interested in women. _Like a lesbian?_ her mind supplied. No. Yes. Maybe. Hermione didn’t think she was a lesbian, but she wanted to try to look like one . . .

She pulled out some jeans, her boots, and . . . a thin t-shirt. They would have to do. She covered her face, feeling quite ridiculous. Straight women wore boots and jeans, too! Her face flushed from embarrassment even though she was utterly alone.

 _You’re thinking too hard about this_ , she told herself. _You always end up mucking everything up when you think too hard._

She threw on the clothes and briefly tried to do something with her hair. Giving up, she Apparated to the alley behind Lucy’s. It took her a few times to get the rhythm right on the padlock. She was in the dark hallway when it hit her that Harry and Ron very well might be here. Sighing, she readied herself to see them. 

The pub was more crowded than last time. She quickly looked around and relaxed when she didn’t spot Harry or Ron. She ordered a pint and nabbed a stool in the corner. Now she had to figure out who to ask. Who looked like they would know a good Curse-Breaker? There were so many characters here. The bartender was the same old hag; next to Hermione was a wizard who’d somehow managed to turn his skin green. He played video poker with the intensity of someone trying to win back their life’s savings. Across the bar was the ghost of a showgirl. She was decked out in a feather headdress and a glittery leotard. She glowered at Hermione.

Hermione quickly looked away. She examined the other patrons, but it was a rough crowd and no one seemed up for talking. She snorted. Why did she ever think she’d meet a woman _here_? 

She waved over the bartender. “So . . . I’m a tourist.”

“No kidding.”

Hermione laughed a little. “Yes. Of course I’m not from around here. But I was wondering if you could tell me where—”

“I don’t know where you can get coke.” The bartender went to turn away but Hermione stopped her.

“No! I’m not interested in . . . drugs. I’m trying to find a Curse-Breaker.”

“Oh.” For some reason, the bartender looked even more annoyed at this. She rummaged under the bar and dropped an enormous book in front of Hermione. “Look in there.”

It was the Yellow Pages. Hermione’s parents still had something like this in their kitchen. She didn’t know there was a magical version.

She opened the book and the advertisements on the first page yelled at her:

“Stop letting your subpar cauldron ruin your creations! At Alfredo’s Cauldrons and Casts, your potionware will receive the highest care—” 

“Are you hungry? Try Amy’s Pizzeria! We import fresh mozzarella—”

“Got a need for speed? Arwyn’s aero products is what you need! Everything from magic carpets—”

Hermione slammed the book shut. She looked at the green wizard next to her. “Sorry . . . I’ll just take this outside for a moment.”

The bartender pointed at her. “I want my book back.”

“I’ll bring it right back! I promise!” She darted through the beads into the dusty lobby. Taking up a wobbly chair, she flipped through the book quickly, slamming a page down every time an ad tried yelling. Under section “C” were the Curse-Breakers and she gemino’ed the page. She hoped to visit the Breaker nearest her hotel tomorrow. 

Sighing, she contemplated going back to finish her pint but she didn’t feel like it. There was no one to talk to. She went back only to hand over the book and then left. 

Outside her hotel, she peered around at her entertainment options, all the neon hot on her face. She could see a show . . . or gamble a bit. There was even something called an Oxygen Bar that could be interesting. Not feeling like doing any of it, she went up to her hotel room.

There was a woman waiting beside her door. Hermione stopped. It was that vampire.

The vampire turned and smiled. “Remember me?”

Hermione blushed. “Yes.” Then she remembered why she gave the vampire her hotel room. “Are you here to tell me what you know about the murders?”

“Nope. I’m here to see you.”

“Oh.” Hermione gulped. She tried to remember everything she’d learned about vampires in school. “You can come in, but just know that I’m armed.” She pointed to her wand in her pocket.

The vampire laughed. “You’re cute.”

They went into her room. Hermione sat on the sofa, a little awkward. The vampire joined her.

“Um . . . so I have to admit that I can’t remember your name,” Hermione said.

“Tallulah.” She looked around. “This is a nice room.”

“Oh, thank you.” Hermione chewed on her mouth. “I have to ask you again: Do you know anything about the murders or a kidnapping?”

“Like I said, I know nothing about murders and kidnapped girls,” Tallulah said. “What I do know is that you should be careful around your blond friend.”

“My blond friend?” It took Hermione a moment to figure out who she was talking about. Malfoy did not equal “friend” in her mind. At least not yet. “Oh, you mean Malfoy. Why?”

“He’s some type of creature. I can smell it on him.”

“What?” Hermione was shocked. “Are you sure?”

Tallulah shrugged. “Yeah.”

She needed to remember to bring this information up with the Curse-Breaker. She didn’t think he was a creature—she’d known him since they were kids!—but maybe the curse had a creature component.

“Before we go further, you seem like the type of human who’d want to know that I gave Harry a hand job a few days back,” Tallulah said. “He paid me.”

Hermione laughed. “Is that all? I thought you lot had slept together.”

Tallulah grimaced. “No. I don’t fuck men.”

“You don’t?” Hermione was astonished. Her heart was beating so fast.

“No.” She smiled a little. “I only prefer women . . . but I don’t have a problem jerking a guy off for rent money.”

“But . . . you’re so beautiful,” Hermione whispered.

Tallulah raised an eyebrow. “Lesbians can’t be beautiful?”

Mortified, Hermione said, “Oh, God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Can I feed on you?” Tallulah asked.

Gulping, Hermione said, “I read it hurts. A lot. I also read it can be hard for vampires to stop.”

“You’re a little bookworm!” Tallulah laughed and leaned closer. “I like intelligent girls.”

Hermione blushed deeply. “I’ve always been drawn to books.”

“Hmm.” Tallulah fiddled with one of Hermione’s curly strands. “I’d love to see you in some cat-eye glasses, your hair up in a messy bun. Maybe in a schoolgirl uniform.”

“You should’ve seen me in school,” Hermione breathed. Tallulah tried to kiss her neck but she stopped her. “I don’t want you to hurt me.”

“I have a technique,” Tallulah murmured. “It takes some time, but I can kiss and nibble your neck until you’re squirming, breathless, wild. Until you are desperate to be penetrated. I promise my fangs will feel good then.”

Hermione squeezed her thighs together. Fuck. She was desperate now. “Okay, I give you permission to feed on me, but I’m throwing up a protection spell that will hurl you back if my life is in danger.”

Pausing, Tallulah said, “What does the spell think is life-threatening?”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.” She cast the spell, then hesitated. “Can—I touch your breasts while you bite me?”

Tallulah laughed again. “Sure.” She pulled off her plain t-shirt; underneath was an ordinary white bra. She went to unhook it; Hermione stopped her hands.

“Wait a minute.” She was trembling. God, she’d fantasized about this moment for ages, and now it was actually happening . . . but with a vampire and an ocean away from home. Unable to look at Tallulah, she dragged her hand over the swell of her breasts. Her skin was so cold.

“That feels great,” Tallulah sighed. 

Gaining confidence, Hermione massaged her breasts with both hands, feeling the nipples harden under her thumbs. She was so amazed; Tallulah had probably been dead for a very long time, though her body responded like she was alive and breathing.

“Can I put my mouth on you?” Hermione whispered.

“Yeah.”

Hermione kissed her cleavage, then pulled down her bra to reveal a breast. She was so beautiful. Her skin was creamy and her nipples were oh so pink. Hermione took much of her breast into her mouth, flicking her tongue over her hard nipple. Her flesh was cold, but Hermione quickly warmed her up.

“You sweet girl,” Tallulah murmured. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Hermione shook her head. She couldn’t tell if Tallulah was laughing at her. Probably. She was a vampire after all.

Tallulah pressed her nose to Hermione’s hair. “You smell amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said, and moved to the other breast. Tallulah’s eyes were blue like Ron’s; she let herself think about Ron and what he would do if he saw her right now. She thought there would be panic, immense guilt, but there wasn’t. Yes, she should’ve broken it off with him before doing this, but wasn’t their marriage as good as over?

Tallulah gently raised her up to kiss her. Hermione moaned, opening her mouth. Their tongues entangled; Hermione felt Tallulah’s fangs and shivered. Tallulah pulled away to kiss down to her neck. Hermione clutched at her shoulders, frightened.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” Tallulah’s voice was low and sexy, and feminine. She licked up Hermione’s neck, her tongue hitting all the right nerves.

“Yesss,” Hermione moaned. Tallulah licked and sucked, her fangs grazing her skin without drawing blood. Hermione was so aroused she could barely move.

Tallulah’s hand roamed over her breasts, along her hips, her tongue swirling, her deadly teeth adding just enough pressure to drive Hermione crazy.

“I can smell how aroused you are,” Tallulah murmured. Hermione moaned again; she _was_ incredibly turned on; she felt it dampening her knickers. Tallulah continued to lap at her neck, her tongue and lips now warmed up. 

Hermione didn’t know how she was doing it, but she was bringing Hermione quickly to orgasm with just her mouth on her neck. “God, please . . .” She tried to press Tallulah’s hand into her pants. A man would already be fucking her. She just wanted to be filled.

“No, you have to wait,” Tallulah said, a little amused. Her mouth continued until Hermione was panting, clawing at her back, whimpering for more. Hermione didn’t know herself; all she wanted was to come.

“Now,” Tallulah whispered, and bit Hermione. Her back arched and her eyes rolled. Holy lord . . . so much pleasure flowed through her. There was pain, but it only made her more desperate. She pulled Tallulah closer; Tallulah wrapped her arms around her and pressed a cool thigh into her groin.

“God!” Hermione grinded against her thigh, her whole body on the brink of orgasm. Tallulah pressed harder and she heard only the rush of blood in her ears and Tallulah’s hungry grunts. Hermione came, screaming, her legs latching onto Tallulah’s thighs, her nails scrapping at her back.

Hermione was floating. Tallulah could’ve tried to kill her, and Hermione wouldn’t have the strength to fight her off. Instead she put Hermione to bed and kissed her softly.

“That was fun,” she whispered. “I want to see you again.”

Hermione murmured something; she was asleep a moment later.

*

Hermione woke up the next morning feeling incredibly weak. She groaned and reached for the room service menu. On the phone she ordered the hotel’s biggest, meatiest breakfast. They didn’t have a Full English but pancakes, bacon, sausage, and ham would do. She fell back asleep and was awakened a little later by a knock on the door.

She pulled herself from bed and slouched across the room to let in the hotel staff. “Oh, thank god,” she said, smelling coffee and bacon.

After eating, she relaxed in a bath and enjoyed some fantastic memories from her time with Tallulah. She was feeling loads better after she dried off and threw on some comfortable clothes. She tried to heal the bite marks on her neck but they resisted all her spells. Love bites also dotted her skin; she shivered and disguised them. Last night had totally been worth it.

She’d hoped she would wake up to an owl from Malfoy but nothing had arrived. By lunchtime she was a little worried. She knew that he was a busy person and by no means did he owe her a response, but he was battling a debilitating curse . . . what if he needed her help? He’d told her where he was staying . . . would it be appropriate for her to check in on him?

She wandered down to the casino floor for lunch but got distracted by a _Wizard of Oz_ slot machine. It’d been ages since she’d seen that film! She fed the machine five dollars and got to press the big button twice before her money was all gone. 

“Well, that was disappointing,” she muttered, and went off to find a restaurant. She decided on Mexican and got a little sad when she saw chicken tacos on their menu. She hoped Ron was having fun with Harry.

When she had gobbled up a plate of tostadas and rice, she thought _sod it_ and set off for Malfoy’s hotel. Who cared if he thought she was overbearing? She was trying to help him and she deserved a reply!

Of course his hotel was very posh. It was tiny and magical, with a gigantic crystal chandelier in the lobby. A goblin in fancy dress ran the lift. 

“Which floor, ma’am?” the goblin grumbled in a twangy accent.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Nashville, ma’am.”

A goblin from _Nashville_? How incredible! 

Trying to hide her astonishment, she said, “Eleven, please,” and fell silent. 

The corridor to his room had marble flooring and bursts of fresh roses. A woman in a fur coat slipped by, a hairless crup dancing at her feet. Hermione stared. Hairless crups cost a fortune!

When she arrived at his door, she knocked before she could see anything else that intimidated her. She shook herself. Money didn’t impress her. How many rich arses did she have to deal with at the Ministry? Too many!

There was no answer. She knocked again. Silence followed. She was about to turn away when the door popped open. 

“Come in,” somebody croaked.

She rushed inside. Malfoy was on the bed, looking quite pale and sickly.

“What _happened_?”

He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “Nothing,” he said, muffled.

“Do you need to see Harry again?” She took out her wand. “I could send a Patronus—”

“No!” He jerked up. “Potter is the last thing I need!”

She hesitated. “What do you mean? I thought the curse—”

“I was wrong.” He tried to stand but fell back to the bed. 

She rushed to him. “Here—let me help you.” She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him up. He leaned too much into her and they stumbled. He wore only underpants and she was pressed closely to his bare chest. Yep, she was still attracted to men.

“Get me to that chair,” he said.

Gritting her teeth, she hauled him to a baroque chair and did her best to gently lower him down. “What else can I do?” she panted.

“Nothing.” He summoned his wand, then some trousers and a vest top. 

She looked away as he got dressed. “I found a Curse-Breaker.”

“How did you do that?”

“The Yellow Pages.”

“The what?”

She turned back to him. “Err . . . it’s this book that lists all the local businesses. It’s very popular among Muggles.”

He made a face. “Well, thank you for doing that, but I’m not interested in seeing a Curse-Breaker anymore.”

“Why not!”

He crossed his arms and looked away. “Don’t pry, Granger. I just don’t.”

Quickly losing patience, she said, “You can barely stand! I severely doubt you want to end up bedbound!” 

“Of course I don’t want to be bedbound!” His face flushed. “I just don’t want to seek out a Curse-Breaker! So, please, for the first time in your bloody life, mind your own business!”

She gaped at him. “No!” She knew what she was going to say next would anger him even more, but she didn’t care. He needed to hear it! “You’re being ridiculous! You need to stop pitying yourself!”

“I’m not pitying myself!”

Scoffing, she said, “I thought Slytherins were made of harder stuff, but I can see that I was wrong. You’re a coward!”

“I’M NOT A COWARD!”

She pointed her wand at him. “Do. Not. Yell. At. Me.” He glared but didn’t go for his own wand. “Unless you haven’t told me everything, I don’t understand what harm seeing a Curse-Breaker could do. I think it would be best if you just heard what they had to say.”

He huffed. “Fine. But I don’t appreciate being held by wandpoint!”

“Good.” She crafted a walking cane out of thin air for him. “Here, so you don’t fall and squish me to death on the way there.”

“Damnit,” he muttered. “That’d been my plan all along.” He took the cane and threw on robes. 

“We can Apparate there. I think I did some shopping in the area last year when I visited Harry.”

“You _think_? Brilliant.” He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and grabbed his arm. They Disapparated.

When Hermione opened her eyes, they stood in a rundown shopping center. She spotted the little shop where she’d bought a bikini.

“Charming,” Malfoy said, taking in the graffiti and cracked signs with disdain. 

“Come on.” She directed him into an old building. They followed a scuffed hallway down to a group of offices. Their destination was a door with frosted glass like in those old detective films. The door read:

_Carson’s Curses and Other Catastrophes (Purchase BAIL BONDS here!)_

“Really?” Malfoy said.

She rolled her eyes and went inside. Their appearance startled a secretary.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hermione said.

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“We were hoping to see a Curse-Breaker,” she said. Malfoy hovered behind her. 

“Mr. Carson is quite busy, but if you wait here a moment, I will ask if he’ll see you.”

“Thank you.” They took a seat and waited for the secretary to return.

He smiled when he came back. “Yes, Mr. Carson will see you. His office is right next to the water cooler.”

Hermione smiled her thanks and helped Malfoy to his feet.

Mr Carson was a tiny man in large spectacles that magnified his eyes. “One of you is cursed?”

“I am,” Malfoy said, finally speaking.

Mr Carson looked him up and down. “Yes, you do look unwell.” He waved his wand and an examination table toppled down from the wall. “Have a seat and I’ll take a look at you.”

Hesitating, Malfoy sat on the table stiffly. Mr Carson put on goggles and started waving his wand in front of Malfoy in intricate patterns. He exclaimed and stopped almost immediately. 

“You’re not cursed,” Mr Carson said gruffly. He took off the goggles and peered at Malfoy closely. “You already know what afflicts you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Malfoy whispered, staring down at his hands.

Hermione was confused. “He’s not cursed?”

“No, I’m not.” Malfoy took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m a Veela.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I think I have a brochure,” Mr Carson said. “I can also give you the Floo address to the local Veela chapter.”

“Okay.” Malfoy looked utterly defeated. He struggled to his feet and left the room.

“Thank you,” Hermione said to Mr Carson.

He gave her the brochure and a piece of parchment. “My secretary will handle the payment.”

She paid the secretary and then chased Malfoy back to his hotel. In his room she sat down heavily on the ornate chair. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Malfoy was lying face-down on the bed. “I didn’t want Potter to find out.”

“Why?” She frowned. “What does he have to do with it?”

There was a long pause. “Potter’s my mate.”

She gasped. “No! Oh, god, no!” She didn’t know much about Veelas, but she knew mating was the most important thing to them. “He can’t be! He’s—”

“He’s definitely not straight.”

“I was going to say ‘childish’.” She sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said.


	5. Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Ron was not a very good flat guest. 

Sure, he was having a hard time, but he was a damn wizard and could easily _Evanesco_ all his rubbish. He could pile up all his dirty clothes instead of flinging them about Harry’s living room. He could perhaps, just a little, just for a second, not bitch about Hermione.

Harry was going mental hearing him repeat all his same complaints, his fears, his depressing jokes. He was trying to be a good mate, truly he was, but there was only so much self-pitying he could take, and Ron was going on four days of doing nothing else.

“How about we go to the cinema?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. “No. Don’t feel like it.”

“The pub?”

Again Ron said no. He pointed to his case of Guinness under cooling charms. “Why leave the sofa when you have cold beer right next to you?”

Harry sighed and went to his bedroom just to get away from him. He flopped down on his bed and stared up at his popcorn ceiling. His flat was small and messy, but the rubbish had been _his_ and it’d been the place he went to be alone. Now both of those were not true. He covered his face and tried to not let his mind wander to Malfoy. 

He’d thought a lot about Malfoy since the incident in the alley. His mind kept on straying to his trembling body, his choked sobbing. Harry was ashamed. He wanted to make it better, but he was also very wary about trusting Malfoy. 

After the war, he’d heard bits and pieces about Malfoy’s reform, his dedication to correcting his mistakes from adolescence, and he’d never truly believed any of it. Most of the information had come from the _Prophet_ , which ran stories about Malfoy donating large sums of money or volunteering for nonprofits that focused on Muggle relations and war orphans. Harry had learned long ago not to trust much in print, and he’d always assumed Malfoy had paid the _Prophet_ for all the positive publicity, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

The truth was that Malfoy did seem like a changed person. He was respectful to Hermione, he didn’t call Ron names, and his eyes were filled with so much tenderness when he looked at Harry. _But he sucked my cock when I was practically asleep!_ Harry thought. _Who does that?!_

Yes, Malfoy had violated him. And yes, it might have been a curse that drove him to do it, but it’d been Malfoy’s responsibility to remove himself if he thought he could hurt others, and he hadn’t done that. Instead he’d been desperate to be around Harry. 

Ugh! Harry tugged at his hair. If the curse was somehow real, Malfoy surely would’ve felt the warning signs, right? He shouldn’t have stayed after Harry fell asleep!

But then again, it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t done some fucked up shite to Malfoy too. Even though Malfoy had consented, Harry had known he was hurting him during that blow job and _he hadn’t stopped_. He’d continued. He’d loved that Malfoy was in pain. This knowledge made him tense and more than a little frightened. Malfoy’s struggling throat had felt so good around his cock, and it’d been the struggle, not love or desire, that drove him to thrust harder, deeper.

Harry didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing. He lounged around his flat with Ron and thought about Malfoy’s grey eyes, his white-blond hair, his stupid, stupid umbrella. He wasn’t used to dwelling on his attraction to men. It had always been something at the edge of his mind, something he rarely let himself think about. He’d been afraid to give it power. Yes, he wanted to sleep with men, but what did that mean for him? What did it mean for his life, his identity, for people’s perception of him? What did it mean for Harry Potter, ex-Auror, ex-hero, to want a cock in his mouth? He was afraid to find out.

He wasn’t in love with Malfoy. Not even close. He wasn’t even sure if he liked him as a person. But he desired him. Somehow Harry had begun to think about his arse, his cock, his long elegant back. Malfoy sucking him twice definitely had hell of a lot to do with it, but Harry sensed there was something more. Some unnamed potential. He wasn’t in love with Malfoy, but perhaps he could be.

His phone vibrated. He fetched it from his pocket, excited. Maybe it was Wyatt finally with an update on the murder/kidnapping case! He glared a little; it was Wyatt, but he was only asking Harry over for dinner.

 _Sure_ , Harry texted. _Can my mate come too?_

Wyatt responded: _Yea_

Harry was glad to have Wyatt as a friend. When he’d first arrived in Vegas, he’d been incredibly lonely, and he’d taken to snooping around at all the places that seemed familiar. Naturally, one of his first stops had been the magical police department. Much of Wyatt’s life revolved around his work, and Harry suspected that Wyatt initially took an interest in him because he’d wanted to recruit Harry. He probably still did.

Harry went back to the living room and kicked at Ron’s foot. “Get up. We’re going over to Wyatt’s for dinner.”

Groaning, Ron said, “Go without me.” There were crisp pieces on his shirt and he didn’t even notice. 

“No, you’re going too. I’m bloody tired of seeing you mope about.” Harry Summoned a towel and threw it at him. “Now go take a shower. You reek.”

“I do not!” Ron said, but begrudgingly headed for the bathroom.

When they arrived at Wyatt’s, they wandered around his property before they found him in his junk shed. He kept up his front garden and horse stalls, but back here was a maze of rusting mechanical parts and weather-charred furniture. He even had a couple of old-fashioned phone booths, their glass panels shattered or misted over with water stains.

“The men of the hour!” Wyatt held up his grimy hands. “Let me wash up and I’ll get the grill going. Steak all right?”

“Yeah!” Ron said, his eyes lighting up. They followed Wyatt into his house, which was small in comparison to his piece of land. There were just two small bedrooms, and his living room was crowded with his taxidermy. Two mounted deer turned their heads to look at them.

They took up stools at the breakfast bar and waited for Wyatt to return from the bathroom. Harry always liked getting a good look at Wyatt’s house. It was cluttered like the Burrow, but most of its décor was cowboy-related. There were cowboy paintings and calendars, little welded cowboy hats and lassos, even a homemade quilt of John Wayne’s face sprawled on the sofa. Harry had been shocked his first time here, and Wyatt explained that most of it was the work of his mum: “She sells all her crafts at these old folk’s festivals, and every Christmas I get another one of her creations.” 

On the stool next to Harry was one of Wyatt’s cowboy hats. Harry put it on and tipped its white brim at Ron. “Howdy.”

Ron snorted. “You look ridiculous.”

Wyatt came back then. He saw Harry in the hat and burst out laughing. “It looks all right, I guess. Just don’t say anything.”

“Yee-haw!”

Ron face-palmed. “Merlin, _no_.”

Harry took off the hat and became serious. “Is there an update on the kidnapping?” It’d been a few days since he’d heard anything and he assumed it was because nothing had come from the magical signature.

Hesitating, Wyatt said, “It’s kind of complicated. I’d rather get these steaks going and tell you then.”

“Do you need help making a side?” Ron said.

“Can you make potato salad?” 

Ron shrugged. “Yeah, but it might not be what you are used to.”

Wyatt smiled. “Great!” He swished his wand and all the ingredients came tumbling out of the fridge and trailed after them when they went back outside. 

The grill was under a tall Shoestring Acacia; its grassy leaves did a poor job at blocking the sunlight, but twilight approached and Wyatt cast a few cooling and shading charms. There was a wooden table where Ron set about making the salad and a handful of garden chairs that Harry set about occupying.

Wyatt swished his wand again and the steaks came dancing out of the marinade bag and flopped down on the grill with a sizzle. A little wireless began playing twangy music with another wand flick. Harry had only known Wyatt to listen to Waylon Jennings, and he recognized the song right away.

Wyatt and Harry howled together: “ _I’ve always been crazy and the trouble that it’s put me through_ . . .”

Ron groaned. “Quick, somebody A.K. me.”

“Wait for it,” Wyatt said, and then he twanged into his grill prongs: “ _I’ve always been crazy but it’s kept me from going insane!_ ”

“Wow!” Harry looked around wildly. “It’s like Jennings’ _right here_.”

Wyatt bowed deeply. “What can I say? I’m a natural.” Harry snickered.

“I need a drink.” Ron was horrified. “Do you have any beer?”

“Um . . . I don’t think anything you’ll like.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “American beer tastes like piss.”

“I’m desperate,” Ron said. “I’ll drink anything if it helps me forget what I just heard.”

Wyatt laughed and Summoned three cans of beer. Ron popped open his and took a big swig. He gagged. “Yep, that’s shite.” He smacked his lips and drank some more.

“So.” Wyatt put the lid down on the steaks and nabbed the chair next to Harry. “The kidnapping.” Both Harry and Ron listened closely. “The reason why you haven’t heard anything recently is because we’ve been in limbo. It turns out the magical sig belonged to a minor.”

“What happens now?” Harry asked.

“Well, the good news is that the court ordered the name to be released to us, since, you know, a girl’s life depends on it.” Wyatt sighed. “I found out yesterday that the magical sig belongs to a sixteen year old boy named Mesquite Andrews.”

“Boy?” Harry said. “So it didn’t belong to the girl?”

“Nope, but it gets better: We contacted Andrews’ folks and he’s been at Ilvermorny this whole time!”

Harry frowned. “Somebody can verify that?”

“Yes! It’s fucking crazy! According to his professors, Mesquite hasn’t missed a single class this year!”

“He couldn’t have . . . I dunno . . . took a portkey home for one night?” Ron said.

Wyatt shook his head. “Minors can’t just order portkeys without parental permission. The kicker is that I went to Ilvermorny and I know that it’s damn near impossible to get off that mountain without help from professors. I just can’t see a sixteen year old being able to escape across the country for a single night.”

Harry was quiet for a moment while he thought. “Could he have possibly used a Floo? I know I got away with secretly using Floos in school.”

“From what I remember, the only Floo is in the Headmistress’ office and it’s impossible to Floo directly across the country. He’d have to travel through many fireplaces, which is incredibly time consuming and most folks wouldn’t just give a parentless teen access to their Floo.”

“What about Apparition?” Ron asked.

Wyatt sucked his teeth. “It’s possible, but incredibly unlikely. American kids don’t take their Apparition tests until eighteen, and I highly doubt some sixteen year old mastered it to the point of being able to Apparate such a long distance. Have you ever Apparated damn near three thousand miles? It probably takes over thirty Apparitions to make the journey and—honestly—how in the hell could a teenager manage it?”

Ron’s eyes were wide. “So how did his magical signature end up here?”

“Maybe somebody used his stolen wand,” Harry said.

“Maybe.” Wyatt scratched his chin. “But when have you known magic to do that much damage when it had a conductor? I’ve only known accidental magic to destroy rooms like that.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“So we’re faced with helluva mystery. We’re traveling to Ilvermorny tomorrow to question the kid.” Wyatt paused. “I was hoping you’d come along. I need a few more hands and I can’t recruit more officers or it might tip off the Federal Bureau of Magical Investigation and we’d lose the case.”

“Of course I’ll come!” Harry was excited. It’d be something to get his mind off Malfoy.

“Can I come?” Ron asked.

Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You might have to pay for an extra portkey.”

Ron grinned. “Brilliant.”

Wyatt’s wand began ringing and he checked on the steaks. “You think the salad has chilled long enough? Because I think these puppies are ready.”

Ron stirred the salad a few times. “Yeah, it’s good.”

They sat down at the table to eat; the steak was a little sweet from the marinade and perfectly cooked. Ron’s potato salad was very good, too. It only contained potatoes, mayonnaise, mustard, oil, and some herbs.

“How’s the salad?” Harry asked Wyatt.

“It’s good,” Wyatt said, but he seemed to be avoiding it.

Ron laughed. “You can be honest.”

“Okay . . . I mean, it’s fine, but it’s a little plain. Where’s the bacon? The eggs? The celery?”

Harry made a face. “That’s just _too much_.”

“Yeah, it sounds like you want to ruin a good thing, mate.” Ron winked.

Wyatt sighed and ate a big forkful of the salad. “Mmm. Simplicity.” Everyone laughed.

The conversation was cut off then. Jennings’ _Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys_ came on and Wyatt turned up the wireless all the way and howled the lyrics.

After dinner, Harry was full and content and ready for bed. Ron seemed just as content, which was a relief. He hadn’t mentioned Hermione their whole time at Wyatt’s!

Wyatt looked just as sleepy, so Harry and Ron helped clean up and made to leave. He walked them to the edge of the garden.

“Portkey leaves at eight tomorrow morning,” Wyatt said, stifling a yawn. “We’re all meeting at Headquarters.”

“We’ll be there,” Harry said, shaking Wyatt’s hand. 

“Thanks for letting me come.” Ron paused dramatically. “It was _interesting_.” 

Wyatt laughed. “See you guys manana.”

*

In the morning Harry and Ron arrived at Headquarters a little before eight. Wyatt and Co. were in the same glass five-level building as the Muggle police, but they occupied the invisible top level and entered via an underground tunnel a block away.

The tunnel was cool and brightly lit by electric lights, or at least by lights charmed to look electrical. While some employees chose to walk the tunnel, most used the moving platform that zipped them through in less than a minute. The elevator to the top level had the same Muggle white light. 

The portkey was just off the Headquarters’ lobby in an antechamber to their conference room. 

“Already to go?” Wyatt asked an assistant. 

The assistant nodded. “Should be. They should be expecting you, too.”

Wyatt smiled. “That’s always a plus.” He looked around at the group. Everyone was there except for Officer Welles. Harry asked why she wasn’t present, and Wyatt’s face clouded over. “You don’t want to know.”

At precisely eight, they all placed their hands on the portkey, which was a large manila envelope, and disappeared. 

They re-appeared in a handsome room with rich oak paneling and two large bay windows staring out at misty grounds. Above the fireplace was a portrait of the current headmistress, her dark eyes watching them closely. Harry understood them to be in her office, but while Dumbledore’s office had been cramped and spindly, this room was grand, neat, with maybe _too many_ priceless sculptures and lavish rugs. It was obvious that Ilvermorny was very concerned about impressions. 

“Welcome,” the headmistress said. Bronze snakes flanked each side of her desk. 

“Christ,” Wyatt muttered, gazing around himself. “I thought I’d said goodbye to this place for good.” He mustered a smile. “Headmistress Locklear! I hope you were expecting us?”

She stood to shake Wyatt’s hand. “Yes, unfortunately. I understand that one of our students might be in some trouble?” She had beads in her hair and moved with a rustling of many Wampum necklaces.

“Yes, his magical signature was found at a crime scene,” Judy said, who seemed to be using Ron as a shield. 

Locklear craned her neck to spot Judy. “Is that Miss Mint?”

“Yes,” Judy said, sounding like she wanted to shoot herself directly into the sun. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I see you don’t need the neck brace anymore! How wonderful!”

The group looked at her. Judy blushed purple. 

“A neck brace?” Todd muffled a laugh.

Locklear turned her attention to Harry. “I know who you are.” He smiled politely and waited for her to repeat his life back to him. “Harry Potter. Defeater of Lord Voldemort. Student of Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.”

“Voldemort? Is he Magic Hitler?” Wyatt said.

“Yeah,” Harry said, then addressed Locklear: “That’s me. Did you know Albus and Minerva?”

“I knew Albus only by name, but I correspond with Minerva from time to time. She has so many great pedagogical thoughts.”

“Err . . . yeah. She’s an amazing teacher.” He pointed out Ron. “This is Ronald Weasley. You might have heard of him as well.”

“I sure have,” she said, and grasped Ron’s hand. “I was very impressed when I read about your quick thinking during the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry was only able to kill Voldemort because you destroyed one of the few remaining Horcruxes so efficiently.”

Ron went pink. “Thank you.” Todd and Judy eyed him speculatively.

Locklear clapped her hands together. “So. Mesquite Andrews. He’s currently waiting for us in one of our classrooms.”

“I assume you know all the details from the case?” Wyatt said.

Locklear nodded. “Yes. I also have copies of attendance sheets from Mr. Andrews’ classes. You may also interview our caretaker, Mrs. Garcia. She patrols the halls after hours and has devised ingenious charmwork to prevent students from leaving the property.”

Todd shivered. “Mrs. Garcia is still here?” When Harry and Ron looked confused, he explained: “Ever read _The Shining_? No? Too bad. Think evil lawn sculptures.”

“I was once chased back to the front steps by a screaming peacock hedge,” Wyatt said, frowning. “It’s all just a joke until you’re the one facing down enraged shrubbery.”

The classroom was down the hall from Locklear’s office. Wyatt stopped Harry and Ron before they entered.

“Just so we’re clear: I don’t want you questioning the student. That’s what Judy and I will be doing; we’ve got a system and I don’t need anyone intervening. You two and Todd are here just in case Andrews tries to bolt or attack, so have your wands ready.”

They nodded. “Got it,” Harry said.

Inside Mesquite Andrews waited for them at a large table. He paled when he saw all of them file into the room. In Harry’s opinion, he looked exactly like somebody who’d be mixed up with murdering vampires. He had the face of a rodent; his nose was big and pointy and his front teeth were like a woodchuck’s.

“Thank you for waiting, Mesquite,” Locklear said. She took the chair next to him. “As you already know, these folks are from your hometown’s police department. It’s entirely your choice to answer their questions, but I suggest you do so that this all can be cleared up as quickly as possible.”

Andrews nodded. He looked like he was going to throw up.

“So, Mesquite,” Wyatt said in a friendly voice. “I hear you have perfect class attendance.”

“I do,” Andrews whispered.

Wyatt glanced at Judy. “Me and my friend Judy think that’s amazing. We both went here a long time ago, and I definitely missed my fair share of classes.”

“Yep,” Judy said, then laughed. “I know I played hooky far too many times.”

“What’s your secret, buddy?” Wyatt said. “It’s quite the accomplishment!”

Andrews shrugged. “I’m just committed, I guess.”

“But why? What drives your commitment?” Wyatt asked.

“I don’t know.” Andrews fidgeted in his seat. “I just . . . like my classes.”

“Hmm.” Wyatt thumbed through a few files. “Your parents gave us some of your recent report cards. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but why are your grades so terrible if you like your classes so much?”

Andrews flushed. “What do my grades have anything to do with it?”

Now it was Wyatt’s turn to shrug. “We’re just trying to understand. You seem like a good kid. And your attendance record even makes it look like you’re a good student. So, help me out here, why would your magical signature be found in the same house as three mutilated bodies?”

“I don’t know!” Andrews was breathing hard.

“Has somebody stolen your wand?” Judy asked helpfully.

“I—I don’t know. Maybe!”

Locklear looked sharply at the boy; Wyatt’s expression did not change, but his pulse was visible in his neck.

“How do you not know if your wand has been stolen?” Judy asked quietly.

Andrews’ expression was a bit crazed. “I don’t know! But it’s the only explanation.”

“Let us see your wand,” Locklear said.

“I don’t have it with me.”

Locklear squinted at him. “Students should always have their wands with them.”

“Well, I don’t,” Andrews said, crossing his arms.

“Perhaps it’s in your room?” Wyatt said.

“Yes, I can have Mrs. Garcia retrieve it,” Locklear said, slashing the air with her own wand. An elder woman popped her head inside the room a minute later.

“Yes, Headmistress?”

“Please go up to Mesquite Andrews’ room to retrieve his wand. It might be difficult to find. But before you do that, please bring me the wand registry for all our students.”

“Of course, Mistress.” Garcia left and a moment later came back holding an enormous leather-bound book.

“Thank you,” Locklear said, taking the book.

Andrews looked frantic. “I recently got a new wand! It wouldn’t be in that book!”

Locklear frowned. “That’s impossible. This book is charmed to automatically add a listing when a student changes wands.”

“Yeah . . . but I don’t think my wand would be there.”

“Why not?” Locklear was the epitome of patience. Harry was strongly reminded of Dumbledore. 

“Because . . . it might be confused! My new wand has been passed down through generations. Surely—”

“That has no effect whatsoever on our registry,” Locklear said. She flipped through the book. “Yes, here you are—ten inches, cherry, dragonstring core.”

“Yeah, that’s my old wand! I have a different one now.” Andrews bounced in his seat. “So, there, I was right—the registry is confused!”

Locklear shook her head and said quietly, “No, the registry is never confused.”

Wyatt was very still. He seemed to be holding his breath. Judy worried her bottom lip.

Garcia returned. “I couldn’t find his wand. I tried to Summon it numerous times, but it never appeared. The student must be mistaken.”

“Thank you, Delmy,” Locklear said. She turned to Andrews. “Are you mistaken?”

“N-no,” he said. 

Locklear took out her wand. “ _Accio_ Mesquite Andrews’ wand!” Nothing appeared. She frowned. “Do you not have a wand at all?”

Andrews looked relieved. “That’s right! I don’t have a wand. I was afraid to tell you!”

“How long have you not had a wand?” Locklear asked. 

“Not very long . . . only for a couple of weeks . . .”

Locklear’s eyebrows shot up. “How have you been able to keep up in your studies?”

“Did you give your wand to someone else?” Wyatt said. 

“No! I’m not dumb!” Andrews was now rocking in his chair like he was trying to comfort himself. “Other students have let me borrow—”

“He’s Polyjuiced!” Ron said suddenly.

The room went very quiet. Everyone looked at Ron. 

“How do you know?” Locklear asked, her voice stern.

Harry thought Ron’d go red from all the attention, but he looked quite sure of himself.

“I’ve got a lot of experience with Polyjuice Potion,” he said. “Harry and I used it during our school years, and George and I have experimented with it for the joke shops. If you look closely, you can see it in his face. The potion must be wearing off because his features are looking a bit fuzzy.”

Everybody squinted hard at Andrews. Harry didn’t see what Ron was talking about.

“How long does a dose of Polyjuice last?” Wyatt said.

“It depends on the strength of the potion,” Locklear said. She addressed Garcia: “Please, go find Professor Li. Tell her it’s an emergency.” Garcia nodded and left.

“You guys are tripping!” Andrews said. “I’m not on Polyjuice!”

“Is there a spell or an antidote that counteracts Polyjuice?” Judy asked.

“Yes, but it’s illegal for us to administer it to students without parental permission,” Locklear said.

A few minutes later Garcia arrived with Professor Li. Harry was startled. There must be a common aesthetic for Potions professors, because Li looked a lot like Snape . . . except female and Chinese. Straight black hair curtained her face, her black robes high-collared and bat-like. 

“Yes, Headmistress?” Li said quietly. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Harry would’ve laughed.

“We have suspicions that this student is Polyjuiced,” Locklear said. “What are our options?”

Li stared at Andrews. “Not many, I’m afraid. I have the antidote but we can’t force potions down students’ throats without their parents present. All we can do is wait.”

“How long? I understand that it can only be an estimation,” Locklear said.

Li crept closer. She was staring so hard at Andrews that Harry was shocked the boy didn’t burst into flames. “Hmm, yes,” she said. “I can see the effects of the potion wearing off.”

“I told you lot!” Ron said.

“You’re all crazy! I haven’t taken Polyjuice Potion!” Andrews yelled.

“I would say the potion will completely wear off in thirty to forty-five minutes,” Li said.

“So we will wait.” Locklear stood and looked at the visitors. “I must speak to the DADA professor. I assume you have your own questions as well?”

“Yes, we do.” Wyatt got to his feet. “Todd and Harry, you stay here and keep an eye on the boy. Make sure he doesn’t pull out his misplaced wand and try to escape.”

“If you don’t mind, I would prefer persons affiliated with the school to keep watch. If the boy must be restrained, it needs to be done by people accountable to the school board,” Locklear said.

Wyatt hesitated. “Okay . . . but I need to throw up a few alarm charms just in case he gets past the professors.”

Locklear nodded. “I will allow that. Li and Garcia, if you will.”

Li and Garcia nodded.

Harry and the others followed Locklear into the corridor.

“I hope you don’t mind a walk,” Locklear said. “Our DADA classroom is a few floors up.”

“We don’t,” Wyatt said. “Please lead the way.”

As Harry moved with the group to the main stairwell, he couldn’t help but look around. The walls and floors were stone; medieval art dotted between chilly Gothic windows. An enormous tapestry depicting Merlin mid-duel met them at the end of the corridor. 

“This place looks so much like Hogwarts,” Harry said, amazed.

Locklear nodded. “Yes, the founders were alumni of Hogwarts and they strived for Ilvermorny to reflect this. Unfortunately, this also means the school reflects their colonial ideology and we’ve spent many years trying to address this.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t really understand.”

“Wait, I remember this. I learned it in Professor Womack’s class,” Wyatt said. “Many Native Americans believe that magical white folks coming here was like the beginning of the suppression of their true magic. To this day many tribes take big issue with the use of wands and argue that the founders forced Native American students to use wands even when it harmed their abilities.”

Locklear’s eyes were bright. “Yes! Very good! I wish I could reward Thunderbird some house points!”

“I forgot all about Womack!” Judy grinned a little. “Those were the days.”

“Show off,” Todd coughed. Harry suspected he was annoyed that Locklear didn’t remember him.

The stairs didn’t move like at Hogwarts, but they were grand and made from white marble. A few students slipped past in cranberry and navy robes and looked at the adult visitors with mild curiosity.

They paused outside a classroom. Student voices trickled out: “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” Students were practicing curses inside.

“Professor Abadi?” Locklear said, sticking her head in the classroom. “May we interrupt for a moment?”

“Of course!” said a short man with thick wavy hair. The group filed into the room. 

Wyatt approached him. “Hello, I’m Detective Wyatt Lawhorn. We’re investigating one of your students: Mesquite Andrews.” 

Abadi frowned. “That’s very unfortunate.” He shook everyone’s hand. “Please call me Nadim. What can I do for you?”

Wyatt and Judy took him aside. “Can you tell us what Mesquite is like in your class?” Locklear joined them. Harry wanted to hear their conversation, but Wyatt didn’t wave him over, and he didn’t want to overstep his role. Instead he turned his attention to the students who were continuing their practice.

There was only a handful of students. Harry didn’t think this was a class; it looked more like a study group. He hovered by them. Most of them were struggling to immobilize their partner, and it was taking everything in him not to butt in and explain what they were doing wrong.

“I don’t remember ever being that small,” Ron said.

Harry snorted. “I doubt you ever were. You towered over everyone even in first year.”

One of the students accidently disarmed their partner. Harry picked up the wand and gave it back to the girl. “Your technique is off. You wrist is too stiff.”

The girl squinted at him. “Do you know Professor Abadi?” 

He smiled. “Nope.”

Her eyes roamed up to his semi-hidden scar. “You look familiar . . .”

“He’s in our textbook,” said her partner. “He’s the Harry Potter guy.”

Harry felt his smile falter. “You’ve caught me.”

“Wow!” the girl said. “Can I see your scar?”

Ron snorted. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Sure,” Harry said, feeling like a schoolboy again. He held back his fringe and the kids gazed in awe. 

“The Killing Curse really hit you right there in the forehead?” the girl said.

“Yep.” Harry rushed to change the subject: “So, about your technique. Lemme show you what you’re missing . . .”

He guided the students through the stance and hand movement necessary for a _Petrificus Totalus_ ; he could tell they only paid close attention to him because of his reputation, but he still became quite excited when the girl and her partner successfully immobilized each other.

When he looked up, he found Ron grinning at him. “It’s like a D.A. meeting all over again,” Ron said.

Other students inched closer. He turned to instruct them as well, but Wyatt called over to him: “We should get back to the conference room. I want to be there when he changes back.”

Harry smiled apologetically to the students and followed Wyatt out. Back in the other classroom, Andrews was sweating terribly, his eyes crazed.

Locklear startled when she saw him. “Do you need any water, Mesquite?”

“N-no,” he answered. 

Locklear sat close to him. “Is there anything you want to tell us? We can tell that you are disturbed.”

“I’m not _disturbed_. I just don’t appreciate being held here against my will!”

“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Li said from a corner.

They all stared at Andrews expectantly. He turned his face away, and Harry spotted movement at his jaw and thought he was grinding his teeth, but no: It was the beginning of his façade melting away to reveal a young man with dirty blond hair and a bulbous nose.

Locklear gasped. “Jason Quail?” 

Quail didn’t say anything; his eyes were twisted closed and he seemed determined to not open them.

“Mr. Quail is a custodian here,” Locklear explained.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Wyatt asked, and then stood when Locklear nodded. He swished his wand and Quail’s arms snapped behind his back, handcuffs melding to his wrists. 

“Hey!” Quail said. “You have no right!”

“They certainly do!” Locklear said. “It’s illegal to secretly impersonate a wizard or witch.”

Wyatt loomed over Quail. “Where is Mesquite Andrews and why have you been Polyjuicing as him?”

“I want a lawyer,” Quail said.

“A lawyer is only going to do so much,” Judy said. “Speak to us now, and maybe we can make a deal.”

Quail sneered. “Like I’d ever believe that!”

Wyatt said, “Then we must arrest you for the kidnapping of an underage wizard.”

“What? No!” Quail was hyperventilating. “I didn’t kidnap him!”

“Tell us where he is,” Wyatt said.

Quail looked like he was about to faint. “I don’t know . . . he should’ve been back by now! He told me he was only going to be gone for a week tops.”

“Why did you agree to cover for him?” Wyatt asked.

Quail hesitated. “Because he said I could make a lot of money if I helped him.” 

“Doing what?” Judy asked.

There was a long pause. “Mesquite wanted to get his hands on some weed or coke to sell at Ilvermorny. He said he knew some people who’d do business with him.”

Wyatt braced himself on the table. “Do you know any of their names?”

“I—I don’t think so.”

“Don’t lie to us,” Wyatt said. “We hate liars and we always find out the truth in the end.”

“Yes, Mr. Quail,” Professor Li said. “Don’t forget that they could easily obtain a warrant to administer Veritaserum to you.”

Quail’s eyes were frantic. “I . . . I know Mesquite was going to talk to some vampire named Earl.”

“Where?” Judy asked.

“I don’t know! I assumed it was back in Las Vegas! Mesquite bought my broom and then just took off. I don’t know anything more! I promise!”

Wyatt sighed and looked at Locklear. “Headmistress, will you please get the local Wizarding police up here. They’ll need to detain Mr. Quail while we get permission to move him across state lines.”

“No!” Quail yelled.

Nodding, Locklear said, “We will do that.”

Wyatt addressed Harry and Ron: “You two should get back to Vegas. We can handle it from here.” He smiled weakly. “Thanks for your help.”

Ron looked disappointed. “But—”

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Delmy, please show them to our Floo,” Locklear said.

Out in the corridor, Harry said to Ron: “Sorry, but Wyatt probably didn’t want to have to explain our presence to the other police department.”

Ron huffed. “When has other people ever stopped us from solving a mystery?”

Harry laughed.

*

That night Harry was just about to fall asleep when a tapping came from his window. Groaning, he got up to accept the note from the owl. It was from Hermione: _Meet me down at your pool. Don’t tell Ron. I need to talk to you._

“Fuck.” He didn’t let himself think about how serious the note sounded. Hopefully she was all right. He threw on some robes and spelled on his shoes, then quickly snuck out of the flat. Ron was already snoring on the sofa, his mouth hanging open. 

Hermione was there waiting for him. No one had emptied the jelly from the pool, and it was curdling in the heat, a sweet pungent odor wafting over to Harry.

“Hi,” he said.

Hermione smiled a little. She was quite pale and wore a flimsy scarf around her neck. “Thanks for meeting me. You didn’t tell Ron I was here, right?”

“No.” He hesitated and peered closely at her face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, _I’m_ just fine.” Her voice inched up in volume and Harry knew that he was about to be lectured.

“What’s the matter then?”

She sighed. “Draco. You have to go see him.”

Harry was startled. “Why?”

“Because he’s not doing well. He needs you!”

“What? But I got nothing to do with him!”

“Harry, listen.” She took a deep breath. “There’s something you don’t know—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His heart was racing. He didn’t like where this was going.

“I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be right. But you need to go see Draco.”

“Stop calling him that!”

She rubbed hard at her face; her scarf came loose and he got a glimpse of her neck.

“What the fuck is that on your neck?” Despite his question, Harry knew exactly what he was seeing. “Are those _vampire bites_?”

She raised her chin. “Yes, they are but I didn’t come here to talk about me.”

“Was it Tallulah?” Harry demanded. When she didn’t react, he felt himself go numb with anger. “You . . . let her bite you? Why would you do that?!”

“It’s none of your business!”

“How is it not my business?” He was yelling. “Hermione, she’s a fucking vampire! She can kill you!”

“It’s not like that!” Hermione was blushing.

He stilled. “You’re fucking her! How could you do that?” He stepped toward her, not really knowing what he planned to do, but she pointed her wand at him.

“Again, none of it concerns you.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve come here hoping to convince you to see . . . Malfoy.”

“You’re bloody mental.” He shook his head. “You come here to order me about after you’ve cheated on Ron? How dare you?”

“HE’S DYING!” Hermione was breathing very hard. “For once will you not think about only yourself? Draco’s—”

“ _For once_?” Harry laughed bitterly. “Listen to yourself. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’ve spent my life only thinking about others!”

There were tears in her eyes. “Don’t you even care? I tell you that Draco’s dying and you get hung up on my wording?”

“How can he be dying? I saw him like five days ago and he was just fine!”

“Like I said,” she said through gritted teeth. “There’s something very important you don’t know, so I beg of you—go see him.”

He was so bewildered. “Why can’t you just tell me? The last time I checked, I was your best mate, not fucking Malfoy!”

She threw her hands up. “This isn’t about loyalty! It wouldn’t be right if I told you. It would just make everything worse! You have to hear it from him!”

“What the fuck?” Now he was scared. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Why—why can’t you just tell me?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Tears fell down her cheeks and she wiped angrily at her face.

“But . . . I know for a fact he doesn’t want to see me.” Harry’s mind was whirling.

“I don’t think this has anything to do with what he _wants_.”

“Does this mean the curse turned out to be real?”

“I can’t say.” Exhaling loudly, she handed him a piece of parchment. “Look—I need to go. That’s where you can find him. Please go see him as soon as you can.”

“Okay,” he said, numb.


	6. The Moonraker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus! I was busy writing tons of other things. Like always, thanks for reading!

Hermione left Harry and wandered back to her hotel room. She made it to the casino floor before she turned back around. She had to see Draco. He told her that he wanted privacy, but she was too worried about him to leave him alone. 

Outside on the crowded footpath the air was hot. A few wet strands clung to her face and she brushed them away impatiently. Tourists moved too damn slowly. _Get out of my way_ , she thought, and did her best not to jostle them too much. 

At Draco’s hotel she took the stairs, then regretted it when she arrived at his level, gasping for breath. She leaned against the wall for a minute before knocking.

“Merlin—come in!” Draco said through the door. He saw who it was and groaned loudly. “I knew it’d be you.”

Hermione stopped. He looked terrible. His skin was ashen, his eyes spotted with red. He was propped up in bed, but he looked frail, weak. She was surprised he could even hold his head up.

“Oh Draco,” she whispered, trying hard not to cry. She moved to the bed to touch his leg. “This is because of Harry, isn’t it?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “I suppose.”

“What are you going to do?”

He crossed his arms and stared at the telly. He ground his teeth. “What can I do?”

“Go talk to—”

“ _Absolutely not_.”

“How can you be so stubborn?” Her anger from her fight with Harry flared up. “This is ridiculous!”

“I refuse to beg.” His expression crumbled and he covered his face. “Again.”

She couldn’t help it. She started to cry. The entire world felt upside down. Why, oh why, could Harry let this happen?

“Please—let me help you,” she said.

He hit his thighs with his fists. “There is nothing you can do! How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“What about that brochure? There are resources here! Maybe we could find some other Veelas . . . maybe they will know what to do.”

“They can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. I’m doomed! My mate will never love me, and I will _die_ because of it!”

Taking a deep breath, she wiped at her face and did her best to calm her breathing. She had to get a hold of herself. “If I have learned anything from being Harry Potter’s friend, it’s that things are never doomed. There are always options if you’re willing to fight.”

Draco snorted. “Some of us are not so special.”

She moved around the bed and spotted a photograph on the bedside table. Draco saw where she was looking and tried to grab for it, nearly falling over in the process. She helped right him against the pillows. He was breathing harshly.

She picked up the photograph. It was of Draco and a small boy who looked exactly like him. She gasped. It was his son. 

“Don’t say a word.” He glared up at the ceiling, his jaw pulsing. 

She remembered reading about the birth of his son six, maybe seven years ago. It had completely slipped her mind. The Draco Malfoy who’d showed up in Las Vegas seemed too self-destructive to be a father. 

“Are you married?” she asked quietly.

He closed his eyes. “Not anymore.”

“But you have a son.”

“Obviously.” He didn’t open his eyes.

She wanted to hit him. Her hand clenched around the photograph. “And what about him? Do you not care if he grows up fatherless?”

“Of course I care!” He bared his teeth at her. His eyes burned. “Do you think this has been easy—you have no idea—”

“Oh, I have some idea.” Her voice was quiet in anger. “You have been wasting time pitying yourself when you could actually be _doing something_ to ensure that your son grows up with his father around.”

“How dare you!” Draco was trembling. It was obvious that he’d curse Hermione if he had the strength. 

“All you have to do is go see Harry, get him to understand. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, then you must do it for your son.”

“I’ve already tried that! Potter rejected me! He _hates_ me. I refuse to humiliate myself again!”

“Humiliation? That’s what stops you from preventing your death?” She snorted. “You are being childish and ridiculous!”

“And you are being a prying bitch!”

They glared at each other. Hermione wanted to curse him. She wanted to take a pillow and smack him in the face with it.

Again, she had to rein in her emotions. She breathed swiftly through her nose. “Draco,” she said.

“You just don’t understand, okay?” He was looking back at the telly. “You think the solution is just me _talking_ to Potter, but it’s not. I have to get him to fall in love with me, and that’s impossible.”

“Maybe—”

“No.” He held up his hand. “It’s impossible. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Now, please, leave me alone.”

She opened her mouth but then closed it. There was no point in continuing their argument. She would just have to take matters into her own hands.

She placed the photograph gently back on the table, then threw him the remote. “Enjoy your telly. I recommend a channel called ‘HBO’ and a show called ‘True Blood.’” She left.

*

Hermione could be a very stubborn person. Once she set her mind to something, it was damn near impossible to convince her otherwise. Sometimes this caused her problems; sometimes it absolutely worked in her favor.

She knew it was only this stubbornness that gave her the nerve to follow through with her plan.

She left Draco and went straight to the front desk of her hotel.

“I need to leave tonight,” she said to the cheerful American, “but I’m hoping to have another room . . . no two rooms waiting for me when I return.”

The American tapped on her computer. “When will you be returning? If it’s not a Friday or Saturday, then I’m sure we can have a couple of rooms ready for you.”

Hermione thought about it. She gaged her travel time, then how long it would take her to accomplish what she needed to do. “What is your availability like in four days?”

Some more tap tap tap. “Pretty good. Would you like the rooms next to each other?”

“Yes please.”

A few minutes later she was packing up her suitcase in her room. She opened the closet and discovered Ron’s remaining things. She blinked. She’d completely forgotten that he’d once shared this room with her. 

_That was only a few days ago_ , her mind supplied. God, she was a monster. How could she have utterly forgotten her _husband_?

But she couldn’t think about Ron. She would think about it later, when all of this was over. Right now she had to figure out how to get his belongings back to him without making it too awkward. She didn’t trust herself to face him or Harry.

With a flick of her wand, she packed their belongings separately and made up her mind to leave Ron’s suitcase in front of Harry’s flat before she took off. Yes, it was a bit cowardly, but it was what had to be done. The last thing she needed was Ron or Harry questioning her about why she was leaving.

She checked out of the hotel and Disillusioned herself to drop off Ron’s items. She was in a taxi on her way to the International Floo Station when she remembered Tallulah. She hesitated. They’d been messing around, but would Tallulah really miss her for a few days? Did vampires care about this sort of thing?

Hermione shook her head. Tallulah was a vampire, not devoid of all human feelings. She owed it to Tallulah to tell her she’d be gone.

She rung Tallulah on her mobile, holding her breath. Tallulah answered with a smile in her voice.

“Before you ask: yes, I can come over tonight,” Tallulah said.

Hermione sighed. “I wish. I just wanted to let you know I will be gone for a few days.”

“Oh.” Tallulah sounded . . . hurt or suspicious. 

“I’m coming back! I just have some business to take care of . . . then we will see each other again.”

“Sure.” 

Hermione closed her eyes. “I’m not lying . . . I want to see you again.”

“Wanting and doing are two very different things.”

“What can I do to convince you?”

Tallulah hesitated. “Skype me.”

Hermione frowned, trying to remember what that meant. She recalled Skyping Muggles for work a few times but was that over the telephone or through a computer?

“Whatever. Just forget it.”

“No! I’m sorry . . . I was trying to remember what Skype was.”

“Just video chat me.” Tallulah snorted. “I’m old enough to be your great grandma. I can’t believe I’m explaining technology to you.”

Hermione glanced at her taxi driver. She lowered her voice. “I try to keep informed but . . . Muggles are always coming up with new inventions.”

“ _Muggles._ You guys crack me up.”

Smiling, Hermione said, “I promise to video chat you. I’ll even stay in a Muggle motel so the connection won’t be so spotty.”

“Good. I can’t wait.” Tallulah paused. “I hope you have a good trip.”

“Yes, thank you. I hope I do too.” She paused, not really knowing how to end the conversation. Did one say goodbye to a vampire? “Goodbye, then.”

“Yeah, bye.” Tallulah was smiling again.

Hermione hung up and gazed out the window. Though she was a little sad about saying goodbye to Tallulah, she had to focus. She had a big task ahead of her.

*

At the Winnemucca International Station the attendant sighed and said, “There’s an open Floo leaving for New York in fifteen minutes, but I gotta warn you that New York is a disaster at the moment.”

“A disaster?”

“Yep. Their Floo system has been patchy all day.” The attendant tapped her wand against her computer screen. “The current wait is four hours.”

“FOUR HOURS?” Hermione worried her lip. “Do you know how quickly I can get a portkey?”

“Nope, but I can give you a business card to our affiliated company.”

Hermione sighed. “All right.”

She wandered through the station, passing by clumps of ringing slot machines and the grumpy wizards playing them. At her Floo another attendant scowled at her.

“You should have checked-in your suitcase when you bought your ticket.”

“Oh.” Hermione rubbed at her face. “Can I just take it with me into the Floo?”

“Yes, but the fee is $150.”

She groaned. “Fine. Whatever.” Helping Draco was becoming quite expensive. She paid the fee and stepped into the Floo, the green flames licking at her shoes.

“Hold your suitcase tight against your chest! Watch your elbows!” the attendant said, and then pushed a red button. A cloud of Floo powder dropped from the top of the fireplace, a mechanical voice announcing, “Lincoln International Station, New York City.” Hermione disappeared in a roar of green flames. 

Despite the command, Hermione arrived in New York with very sore arms. She stumbled from the fireplace and needed a moment to catch her breath.

“Move along, ma’am! Another arrival is expected in seconds.”

She nodded and weakly wandered away. People jostled her in both directions, and she just clung to her suitcase and took it. Every chair and bench was occupied. She slumped against the wall, closing her eyes briefly. The whole place smelled like an overflowing toilet. She breathed through her mouth.

Caffeine. That’s what she needed. She clung to the wall as she searched for a coffee shop. Up ahead was a gigantic portrait of Mary Todd Lincoln, who stared glumly at the travelers, her wand tucked away in a frilly Victorian sleeve.

When Hermione found an open shop, she paid four dollars for a cup of gritty sludge and found her way back to the Lincoln portrait. Next to it was a cloudy bronze plaque:

_Mary Ann Todd Lincoln, the only magical First Lady of the United States, was born in Kentucky in 1818. She was a star pupil at Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for her talents in Divination and Palmistry. The Todds were a renowned wizardry family, and Mary disappointed many when she accepted the marriage proposal of Abraham Lincoln, a No-Maj lawyer. It is rumored that Lincoln only learned about Mary’s magical abilities after being elected as the 16th President of the United States. Mary is credited for quelling regional tensions in wizardry communities during the No-Maj Civil War. Following the assassination of her husband in April 1865, Mary’s mental and physical health declined, and she dedicated her remaining years to resurrecting Lincoln. It is unknown if she succeeded, though No-Maj believe his ghost haunts many locations, including the White House, Ford Theater, and strangely the restaurant We the Pizza on Pennsylvania Ave in Washington, DC. Mary died in 1882 after she injured her spinal cord in a Hippogriff riding accident._

Huh. Hermione stared at the portrait again, trying to decide if Mary Lincoln looked nice or not. She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine hiding her magical abilities from Ron for years. She could barely hide what she planned on having for lunch from him.

Instead of giving her a nice buzz, the shit coffee made her head hurt. She nabbed an open seat next to a drooling sleeping man and cast an _Aguamenti_ straight into her mouth. She laid back and closed her eyes against the blinding lamps that mimicked electrical light.

*

When she arrived in Wiltshire, she thankfully found a room at the Moonraker despite showing up without a reservation. The room was strangely small, but she was too exhausted to care. She soaked in a bath until she was all pruny. She wanted to nail down her plan, but her stomach rolled every time she tried to imagine herself strolling up to the Malfoy Manor. She just had to do it, blast the consequences.

She left the bath and collapsed on the small bed. She had planned to freshen up and head straight for the Manor, but her head throbbed and her shoulders felt weighed down. She crawled under the duvet, her hair still dripping wet. She closed her eyes and allowed the aches in her body to lull her to sleep. 

She awoke to nighttime. Groaning, she forced herself from bed and rummaged for some clothes and a hairbrush. Then she went down to the hotel’s restaurant and treated herself to roasted sole and purple mash. The waiter asked if she wanted some dessert. She thought _sod it_ and ordered a bottle of wine and the lemon meringue.

 _Tomorrow_ , she thought as she dragged herself up to her room. _Tomorrow I will speak to them._

Back in her room, she connected her laptop to the Internet and then searched her email for Tallulah’s contact information. When she found it, she took a deep breath, and sent a video chat request to Tallulah. 

Tallulah answered, her face ghostly against the light of her screen. She was in some dark room, and Hermione didn’t know if it was her flat.

Hermione smiled widely. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Tallulah smirked but her eyes were very warm. “How was your flight?”

“Oh, I didn’t take a plane.” Tallulah frowned, and Hermione laughed. “I took a . . . fireplace.”

“Oh Lord.” Tallulah rolled her eyes. “You guys are ridiculous. Too focused on an aesthetic.”

Hermione laughed even more. “A _vampire_ thinks witches and wizards are too focused on our image?”

“You are confusing American and European vampires.”

“Terribly sorry. Please teach me the difference.”

“European vamps are much more concerned with tradition. They are like . . . caricatures of themselves.”

Hermione tsked. “It sounds like you have a bias.”

Laughing, Tallulah said, “Maybe I do.” She sighed. “I wish you were here with me.”

Hermione’s stomach clenched. “Oh? What would you do to me?”

“Oh, many, many things. Naughty things. You understand.”

“Yes, I think I do.” Hermione tried to quiet her breathing. She remembered how overwhelming it was when they shagged, how she felt like she would lose consciousness. 

“Touch yourself. I wanna see you get off.”

“No!” Hermione blushed. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh well.” Tallulah smirked again. “I had to ask.”

“God. I need to get some rest and here you are making me . . . wet.”

“Mission accomplished.” Tallulah glanced over her shoulder. “I should go then. I should get back to sleep myself.”

Hermione tried not to be disappointed. “Yeah, me too. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”

“Good luck . . . whatever you are doing.”

“Thanks.” Hermione waved awkwardly. “Goodnight then.”

Tallulah smiled softly. “It’s daytime here, so good afternoon.”

Hermione laughed and disconnected their chat. She fell back against her pillows with a sigh. She would not let herself get anxious about tomorrow.

*

The day arrived bright and cool. Hermione was relieved. She didn’t think she could return to Malfoy Manor on a gloomy day. She didn’t remember its exact location, but she used a spell she’d learned from Harry when he was still with the Aurors.

When she appeared in front of the Manor gates, she determinedly focused on the ground in front of her and tapped her wand to the gleaming metal.

“State your purpose,” boomed a voice. 

“Hermione Weasley, here to speak to Mistress Narcissa Malfoy about heir Draco Malfoy.”

A moment later the gate slid open. She walked through hesitantly, trying to swallow down her fear. The grounds were yellowing, the shrubbery already losing flowers and leaves.

Up ahead the manor loomed proudly, its weatherworn exterior dull and intimidating. It definitely looked like the place where medieval dark magic occurred. 

There was yelling. Hermione paused, not sure what she was hearing. A boy emerged from the other side of the Manor, his blond hair windswept, his cheeks pink from the cool air. He raced toward her.

“Dad! Have you talked to him?” he called out.

She didn’t response. She wasn’t about to shout across the grounds to a little boy. 

The boy came to a stop in front of her. “Have you heard from Dad?” he said, gasping for breath.

“Is your father . . . Draco Malfoy?”

“Yeah? Who else would be my father?” He looked at her like she was a moron. He stuck his hand out to her. “I’m Scorpius. Nan is probably in the drawing room, if you want her.”

She shook his hand. “Yes, I think it’s best if I speak to her.”

He squinted at her. “Is he okay?”

Gulping, she said, “No . . . I mean . . . there might be something wrong.” God, she was shite with children.

“Is it about his Veela thing? Because we already know all about that.”

“What?” 

He took her hand and pulled her toward the front door. “Oh, yeah. He’s a Veela. He told us before he left.”

“Oh.” She didn’t really know what to think.

They went inside and she focused on his small hand clutching hers. Looking around would mean remembering . . . things. She would rather leave here without all her past trauma weighing on her.

“Nan! You got a visitor!” Scorpius said, yanking Hermione into the drawing room.

Narcissa looked up from her chair in front of the roaring fire. She was shocked but quickly smoothed her features. She stood, still clutching the book.

“Mrs Weasley,” she said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Hermione stepped forward hesitantly. “I’m here about your son.”

“Oh.” Narcissa frowned. “Please—have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said, sitting in the chair opposite Narcissa. Again, she didn’t look around.

Narcissa called for tea and an elf appeared with a large teetering tray. “Here it is, Madam!”

Hermione tried not to stare. It revolted her to be waited on by an enslaved elf, but she couldn’t be sidetracked. She sipped politely from her cup as Scorpius drank deeply from his tea and wolfed down a crumpet. 

“I understand from Scorpius that you already know about Draco’s . . . predicament.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. “Yes, but how do you know?”

“Oh,” she said, smiling a little, “I ran into him in Las Vegas.”

“ _Las Vegas?_ ” Narcissa said in disgust. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s where Draco went for help about his . . . you know.” Hermione took a deep breath. It was ridiculous to not just say what needed to be said. “Draco found out that his mate is . . . Harry Potter.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said, utterly unsurprised.

Hermione blinked. “You already know about Harry?”

Narcissa sighed heavily. “Of course I know.” She straightened her back. “My son trusts me with most of his secrets.”

“Right,” Hermione muttered. Her mind whirled and she had a hard time focusing on a single thought. “He’s . . . not doing well. I think he’s about to give up.”

“Ridiculous!” Narcissa flapped her hand. “My Draco has always been prone to dramatic self-pity. He just needs a kick to the rear.”

Hermione blinked again. Did Narcissa Malfoy just say . . . ? She set down her tea and clasped her hands in her lap. _Focus._ “I agree.” She took a deep breath. “I came here because I think Draco will be more motivated if he had Scorpius with him.”

Scorpius brightened. “I want to see him.” He rocked in his chair. “Please . . . I’ll be good.”

“Yes, well . . .” Hermione glanced at Narcissa. She couldn’t read the older woman’s expression. “It’s up to your Nan, of course.”

Narcissa stood and walked toward the fire. Her back was incredibly stiff. “I would only make things worse if I Floo’ed to America with you.” She sighed again. “I agree that Draco needs his son . . . but I don’t want him hurt.” Narcissa turned to face Hermione. “I assume you’ve heard that I’m quite fond of Unbreakable Vows?”

Hermione gulped. “Yes?”

“Will you vow to do all that you can to keep Scorpius safe?” 

Hermione raised her chin. “I won’t take an Unbreakable Vow, but I’ll give you my word.”

Narcissa came closer and stuck out her hand. “Will you shake on it? A witch’s agreement?”

“Okay.” Hermione took her cool hand. Narcissa stared into her eyes, and it made Hermione flush a little.

“Please protect them,” Narcissa murmured. “I don’t know what I’d do if they were taken from me.”

“I will,” Hermione said.

“Cool!” Scorpius jumped up and down, cheering. His little face was bright and happy. As Hermione watched him, she felt she _might_ actually be doing the right thing.

Narcissa looked close to fainting.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tell you how excited I am working on this fic. I have such a soft spot for veela and vampire fics, and this story has both of them!
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Lena! Kudos and comments are appreciated! Thanks for reading! <3


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